ill 



l 



w 





Book - 3? 84- 



S4S 



JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY, 

Publishers and Booksellers, 

BOSTON, 

Would invite the attention of Booksellers, Country Merchants, Teachers, 
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JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 

JU ST P UBLI S HED, 

The Young Ladies' Elocutionary Reader, Con- 
taining a Selection of Reading Lessons, by Anna U. Rus- 
sell. With Introductory Rules, and Exercises in Elocution, 
adapted to Female Readers, by William Russell, author 
of " Lessons in Enunciation, " &c, and Instructor in Elo- 
cution at Abbot Female Academy, Andover, and Bradford 
Female Academy, Mass. pp. 480. 2d ed. 12mo. 
The Publishers have received high recommendations of this 
work from George B. Emerson, Esq., Rev. Hubbard Winslow, 
Joseph Hale Abbot and S. Adams, Esqs., Rev. R. C. Water- 
ston, Boston ; Mrs. Farrar, Cambridge ; Mrs. Sigourney, Hart- 
ford ; Miss A. C. Hasseltine, Principal of Bradford Academy, 
Mass. ; Mr. Asa Farwell, Principal of Abbot Female Acad- 
emy, Andover, Mass. ; Rev. H. F. Edes, Teacher, Plymouth 
Mass.; S. Chase, Principal of Female Institute, Middletown, 
Conn. ; and many others. The book is now in use, in the 
schools of the Teachers above named. The following notices 
have recently appeared. 

" Here is a book worth having, — well prepared, well printed, and 
adapted to the wants of the times. The accomplishment of fine elo- 
cution has never taken its just rank in our systems of female educa- 
tion. The unwillingness, and even inability of many young ladies, 
to read aloud in company, or to entertain the domestic circle, are 
pitiful results of years devoted to school culture. 

"The rules given for the management of the voice, evince judg- 
ment and experience ; and the taste exhibited in a copious selection 
from the treasures of elegant literature, is fine, and unexceptionable. 
We are truly glad that this important subject has been taken up, by 
pens so competent to illustrate it, and trust that a book which so hap- 
pily combines eloquence with practical wisdom, will find the favor 
that it deserves, from the teachers and pupils of our country ." — Hart- 
ford Courant. 

" The art of reading well, is so uncommon an attainment, and yet 
so useful and agreeable, that we wonder much at the indifference 
which is manifested towards it by our public teachers. We hail, 
therefore, with great pleasure, every effort, however humble, to arrest 
public attention to this subject. 

" The book before us commences with an introductory chapter 
upon the principles of elocution; such as the * Management of the 
Voice,' l Faults in the Mode of Utterance,' etc., etc. ; and then fol- 
lows the ' Young Lady's Reader,' divided into two hundred and one 
exercises. Each exercise is preceded with a short exemplification 
of the peculiar style of movement, pitch of voice, etc., appropriate to 
bring out its full meaning." — Christian World. 



JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 

" I have examined Russell's Young Ladies' Elocutionary Reader. 
It is seldom that a reading book of so high a character as this is 
given to the public. It is marked by an elevated taste, which ren- 
ders it admirably adapted to female education. The selections are 
from the finest writers, a large number females. It is what it pre- 
tends to be, a book for Young Ladies. I know of no other volume 
of selections, so well calculated to aid in forming a correct and re- 
fined taste. 

" The instructions on the management of the voice, and the prin- 
ciples of elocution, are worthy the attention of all who wish to speak 
easily and agreeably. 

" Teachers using this work, and reading the remarks connected 
with the " lessons," cannot but be induced by their interest, to en- 
gage heartily in the work of securing a prompt, clear, and elegant 
" unciation. S. CHASE, 

Middletown, Conn. Principal of Female Institute." 



M Mr. Russell gives some admirable rules for the management of 

3 voice, and the correction of errors into which the pupil may have 
; len ; and with his clearly written rules, so plain that all may un- 

rstand them, it appears to us that the learner may make most 
I Dfitable use of the excellent selection of pieces, by Miss Russell, 

* practising, in which the various inflections of the voice are ad- 

rably illustrated, and all the passions and emotions, their variety 
shades and blending, are set forth ; while, at the same time, the 

3ces themselves are generally so valuable as literary ' morceaux,' 
that the young reader and student are continually acquiring ideas 
and language, that must be of use to them in after life. 

" It is due to Messrs. Munroe & Co. to say, that they have 'got 
out' this book in a style most creditable to their liberality, and as 
evincing their own appreciation of the value of the work. Good 
taste and neatness, in the details of a book, may be regarded as in 
itself a good lesson for young persons, and especially is it appropri- 
ate and desirable in a volume for young ladies." — U. S. Gazette. 



NOW READY. 

The Introduction to the Young Ladies' Elocu- 
tionary Reader,— by the Authors of that work. 

This volume contains a selection of reading lessons, for the 
younger classes in female schools; and the extracts are pre- 
ceded by a brief statement of the first rudiments of elocution, 
adapted to female readers. 



JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 

WORCESTER'S SPELLING-BOOK. 

The American Primary Spelling-Book. By S. 

T. Worcester. 6th edition. 12mo. 

Extract from the preface : ' It is intended to be used in teaching chil- 
dren the rudiments of reading and spelling, by a series of lessons addressed 
to the understanding as well as to the eye and memory.' 

RECOMMENDATIONS. 

1 1 have examined the American Primary Spelling-Book, and think it 
superior to any other spelling-book in use. It has been introduced into 
this school, and will be used in preference to any other. 

'BENJ. BOWERMAN, Prudential Committee. 

' Adams, Aug. 25, 1834.' 

* I hereby certify, that I have partially examined the American Primary 
Speliing-Book, and think it well adapted to the end designed by its author, 
as a first book for children. I do not hesitate, therefore, to recommend its 
introduction into our common schools as an excellent work for beginners. 

' SAMUEL W. SHAW, Rector, St. Luke's Church. 

* Lanesboro', July IS, 1S34.' 

' This is to certify, that I do heartily approve of the above recommenda- 
tion of the American Primary Spelling-Book, and shall use my influence to 
have it introduced into our common schools. Arrangements are already 
made for its introduction into the school where I live. 

■ W. G. JOHNSON, 
* Pastor of Baptist Church, and Examining and Prudential Committee. 1 

I Having examined the school-book, mentioned in the certificates above, 
I concur in the opinion they express in its behalf, and would cordially re- 
commend its use. 

4 HENRY B. HOLKER, Pastor Cong. Church: 

* From the examination I have been able to give the American Primary 
Spelling-Book, I feel much pleased with its character. It will be intro- 
duced into the school of which I am Prudential Committee, and I hope into 
all the others in town. ENOCH NURSE, Committee: 

I I have examined the American Primary Spelling-Book, and think it an 
excellent work for the purpose for which it is intended. Arrangements are 
made for its introduction into the school in Ward No. 6, and I doubt not it 
will prove highly useful. 

* AUSTIN FLINT, Prudential Committee. 
'Dalton, July 30, 1834.' 

' This may certify, that I have examined the American Primary Spelling- 
Book, and believe it to be a useful work, and am making arrangements for 
its introduction into the school in Ward No. 1. 

* G. D. WESTON, Prudential Committee. 

I Dalton, July 31, 1634.' 

I I have partially examined the American Primary Spelling-Book, and 
concur in the recommendation of the examining committee (referring to a 
letter of approbation from the examining committee). Arrangements are 
made for its introduction and use in the school of which I am Prudential 
Committee. RUSSEL TINKER. 

J l Hinsdale, Aug. 6, 1834.' 

* The arrangement of the Primary Spelling Book is excellent. Many of 
the spelling lessons are accompanied with definitions, and classified as 
nouns, abstract nouns, adjectives, verbs, and words alike in sound but 
different in spelling and meaning, which we regard as an important im 
provement.' — Salem Observer. 

8 






INTRODUCTION 



11! 90. 



TO THE 



YOUNG LADIES' 



ELOCUTIONARY READER: 



CONTAINING 



A SELECTION OF READING LESSONS: 



TOGETHER WITH 



THE RUDIMENTS OF ELOCUTION, 



ADAPTED TO FEMALE READERS. 




WILLIAM AND ANNA U. RUSSELL, 

AUTHORS OF THE ABOVE-MENTIONED READER. 



V 



BOSTON: 
JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY. 



1845 



£ 3 : ^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1845, by William Russell, 
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



THE YOUNG LADIES' ELOCUTIONARY READER, 

containing a Selection of Reading Lessons, by Anna U. 
Russell, and the Rules of Elocution, adapted to Female 
Readers, by William Russell. Also, 
THE INTRODUCTION TO THE SAME, for Younger 
Classes. 

These works are intended to combine, in each volume, the twofold advan- 
tage of a series of Reading Lessons, selected under the special influence of 
feminine taste and habits, with a manual of Elocution, adapted expressly to the 
systematic instruction of females, in the art of reading. 



From Miss A. C. Hasseltine, Principal of Bradford Academy, Bradford, Ms. 

" I have examined the manuscript, plan, and contents of the i Young Ladies' 
Reader/ and am free to say, that the importance of the various Rules and 
Exercises in Eloeution, and the fine selection of Pieces for Reading Lessons, 
will render it a very desirable work to be introduced into all our female 
schools. We shall not hesitate to introduce it into our academy as soon as it 
is published." 

From Mr. George B. Emerson, Instructor, Boston. 

u I have carefully examined the plan of the l Young Ladies 7 Reader j 7 and I 
like it so well — both the introductory portion and the selections — that I say, 
without hesitation, I should immediately adopt it, as a reading book, in my 
own school, if it should be published." 

From Mr. Asa Farwell, Principal of Abbot Female Academy, Andover, Ms. 
" The plan of the l Young Ladies' Reader/ strikes me very favourably. The 
Selections are judiciously made 5 and the Introductory Rules will be exceed- 
ingly valuable. Such a work, in schools for young ladies, will occupy a place 
for which there is not now, so far as my knowledge extends, any suitable text- 
book. The volume will be looked for with pleasure 5 and, when published, 
we shall introduce it into our academy. 77 v .„ . £}\ 

From Rev. Hubbard Winslow, Boston. \ * •<? %^is 

"I have examined the plan and many of the extracts for the l Young Ladies' 
Reader/ and have no doubt of the great merit of the work. I shall introduce 
it into my school. May it find its deserved success, generally ! 77 

From the Connecticut Courant, Hartford. 

"Here is a book worth having, — well prepared, well printed, and adapted 
to the wants of the times. The accomplishment of fine elocution has never 
taken its just rank, in our systems of female education. The unwillingness 
and even inability of many young ladies to read aloud in company, or to enter- 
tain the domestic circle, are pitiful results of years devoted to school-culture. 
We quote a few sentences on this subject, from the excellent treatise with 
which the volume commences. 77 

" The rules given for the management of the voice, evince judgment and 
experience 3 and the taste exhibited in a copious selection from the treasures 
of elegant literature, is fine, and unexceptionable. We are truly glad that 
this important subject has been taken up, by pens so competent to illustrate 
it, and trust that a book which so happily combines eloquence with practical 
v/isdom, will find the favour that it deserves, from the teachers and pupils of 
our country. 77 



STEREOTYPED AT THE BOSTON TYPE AND STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY. 



PREFACE. 



The present volume is designed, as its title indicates, to precede 
the Young Ladies' Elocutionary Reader. The pieces are, accord- 
ingly, selected from passages adapted to the capacity and the taste 
of younger classes than those for whose use the Reader was pre- 
pared. 

The preliminary rudiments of elocution, which precede the extracts 
contained in this Introduction, have been selected with a view to aid 
in laying the foundation of a correct, distinct, and appropriate style 
of reading. The comparative extent to which the study of elocution 
has, of late years, been carried, requires, m many schools, a more 
exact and systematic course of instruction than formerly, in this 
branch of education ; and the extensive adoption, by intelligent 
teachers, and influential institutions, of the theory of elocution pre- 
sented by Dr. James Rush, renders the practical application of his 
analysis an important part of elementary teaching. 

The rudiments and principles presented in this Introduction, as 
well as in the Reader, have therefore been arranged in adaptation to 
the views exhibited in Dr. Rush's Philosophy of the Human Voice, 
— but, at the same time, in such a manner, it is thought, as not to 
cause any difficulty to instructors who prefer to follow the systems 
of Walker, Knowles, Dr. Porter, or that of one of the authors of the 
present work, nor even to impede those who choose to follow, exclu- 
sively, a course of practical oral instruction, accommodated to every 
class of their pupils, separately. 

Teachers who make use of this Introduction and the Reader which 
follows it, will, it is hoped, derive essential aid, — in instructing 
classes still younger than those for which these volumes were com- 
piled, — from the use of Russell's Elementary Series ; including a 
Primer, Spelling-book, Primary Reader, and Sequel. These books, 
along with the Young Ladies' Elocutionary Reader, and this Intro- 
duction, are intended to furnish all the successive steps of spelling, 
reading, and elocution, requisite for the instruction of female pupils. 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

Preface 3 

RUDIMENTS OF ELOCUTION. 

Orthoepy 7 

Cultivation of the Voice 10 

" Inflection," or " Slides " and " Waves" IS 

Pauses 27 

Emphasis 27 

Expression . 28 

Rhythm 35 

PIECES FOR PRACTICE. 
Exercise. Page. 

1. The Raising of Lazarus Gospel of John. 37 

2. Villagers' Hymn to the Scriptures Anon. 39 

3. How to read the Bible J. Abbott. 41 

4. The Moss Rose Anon. 43 

5. A Cheerful Heart Margaret Davidson. 43 

6. The Silk-Worm Cowper. 45 

7. Two Days in the Life of a Violet J. Montgomery. 46 

8. The Same Subject, concluded Ibid. 47 

9. Little Children Mary Hoicitt. 49 

10. The Samaritan Exiles Anon. 50 

11. The Same Subject, concluded Ibid. 53 

12. The Adventure of a Star J. Montgomery. 55 

13. Milly, the Daughter of the Creek Chieftain Anon. 58 

14. The Skylark Hogg. 59 

15. The Good Daughter Miss Mitford. 60 

1 6. The Same Subject, concluded Ibid. 62 

17. The Voice of Spring Mrs. Hemans. 64 

18. Love of Finery Mrs. Farrar. 65 

19. To the Snowdrop , Procter. 66 

20. The Two Monkeys Gay. 67 

21 . Parables .' Krummacher. 69 

22. Abou Ben Adhem and the Angel Leigh Hunt. 70 

23. The Gothic Chapel Dickens. 7L 

24. The Sunbeam Mrs. Hemans. 73 

25. The Month of March, in England Howitt. 75 

26. March Bryant. 76 

27. The Winds Hannah F. Gould. 77 

28. The Fisherman Moir. 78 

29. The Dove in the Village Church JV. Y. Observer. 80 

30. A Gleam of Sunshine H. W. Longfellow. 81 

31. The Log Schoolhouse J. Hall. 83 



CONTENTS. O 

Ex. Page. 

32. Modesty Lucretia M. Davidson. 85 

32. The Lily of the Valley Croly. 86 

33. The Magpies Miss Mitford. 86 

34. Slide ofthe White Mountains Anon. 90 

35. The Mountain Slide Louisa P. Smith. 92 

36. The Worms Death Song F. S. Key. 93 

37. The Four Sisters Mrs. Barbauld. 94 

38. Good Temper Miss Lamb. 97 

39. Margaret Davidson Washington Irving. 98 

40. Eartii r*. . . . . Margaret Davidson. 99 

41. The Turban, or Insincerity Punished Mrs. Opie. 101 

42. The Father's Choice Mrs. S. J. Hale. " 

43. Effects of a Flood Mrs. Sigourney. 

44. Morning Twilight J. G. Percival. 

45. Virtue George Herbert. 

46. True Magicians Mrs. Barbauld. 

47. The Comet's Flight Miss Day. 

48. Respect to Teachers Mrs. Farrar. 

49. Formation of a Coral Island J. Montgomery. 

50. The Coral Insect Mrs. Sigourney. 

51. Earthquake at Pointe-a-Pitre H. H. Breen. 

52. Gertrude of Wyoming Campbell. 

53. A Gust Dickens. 

54. Time Carey. 

55. Childhood of Lucretia Davidson Miss Sedgwick. 

56. A Prayer in Sickness Procter. 

57. Morning Service in the Temple at Jerusalem Anon. 

58. The Same Subject, concluded Ibid. 

59. Song of the Stars Bryant. 

60. Filial Reverence Mrs. Farrar. 

61. Love and Death Tennyson. 

62. An Old Friend Court Journal. 

63. The Last Wish /. M'Lellan.Jr. 

64. God the Creator Fenelon. 

65. Eliot and the Indian Anon. 

66. A Day in Broadway Anon. 

67. The Dying Pauper and her Sovereign : Anon. 

68. The Monastery of St. Bernard Brockedon. 

69. End of Christian Education W. M. Rogers. 

70. The Vicissitudes of Nature Cowper. 

71. Woman George B. Emerson. 

72. Silence Anon. 

73. The Sleeper Mrs. Hemans. 

74. An English Boarding School Dickens. 

75. May Morning Anon. 

76. The May Queen Tennyson. 

77. New Year's Eve Ibid. 

78. J une Hoicitt. 

79. Market of Algiers Campbell. 

80. The Youthful Poet Beattie. 

81 . The Appropriate Sphere of Woman Muzzey. 

82. The Sound of the Sea Mrs. Hemans. 

83. Voices of Summer N. P. Willis. 

84. Dirge Collins. 

1* 



O CONTENTS. 

Ex. Page. 

85. Woman Economy of Human Life. 174 

86. Hope, the Friend of the Mariner Campbell. 176 

87. All-hallow Eve, in Wales Anon. 177 

88. The Libelled Benefactor Horace Smith. 179 

89. Midsummer Eve JV. Hawthorne. 181 

90. Effects of Music on Man Mellen. 182 

91. The Virtuous Woman Sacred Scriptures. 183 

92. To the Moon Bernard Barton. 184 

93. Petrea Miss Bremer. 185 

94. Journey of the Culprit Fay J. R. Drake. 188 

95. The Same Subject, concluded Ibid. 189 

96. Tivoli Anon. 191 

97. An Autumn Day Bryant. 193 

98. Winter Scene Thomson. 194 

99. The Music of Winter JV. P. Willis. 195 

100. Taste in Dress Mrs. Farrar. 197 

101. The Miss-Nomers Mrs. Barron Wilson. 198 

102. Conversation Caroline Fry. 1 99 

103. On the Departure of a Brother M. Davidson. 202 

104. To the Rainbow Campbell. 203 

105. The Circassians Anon. 205 

106. Hagar in the Wilderness N. P. Willis. 207 

107. To the Winds Bernard Barton. 209 

108. Joy Margaret Davidson. 210 

109. A Story of the Pyrenees R. M. Milnes. 211 

110. The Oasis H. Reed. 214 

lll v The Cataract of Lodore Southey. 217 

112. Passing Away Maria J. Jewsbury. 219 

113. The Departed Park Benjamin. 220 

114. Fashion Mrs. Ellis. 221 

115. Death of a Princess Anon. 223 

116. Palmyra, as it is Linden. 224 

117. Palmyra, as it was W. Ware. 226 

118. The Green Hills of my Father-land Mrs. Thurston. 228 

1 1 9. The Landing of the Pilgrims Mrs. Hemans. 230 

120. Beauty J. G. Whittier. 231 

121. Evening Thoughts Anon. 232 

122. Ancient Gardens Anon. 234 

123. The Approach to Paradise . . . , Milton. 237 

124. Rejoicings upon the New Year's coming of Age ..C. Lamb. 238 

125. The Same Subject, concluded Ibid. 240 

126. Scene from Midsummer-Night's Dream Shakspeare. 242 

127. Transmigration of Souls Spectator. 245 

128. The Pauper's Death-bed Mrs. Southey. 249 

129. Woman A. Lewis. 250 

130. Domestic Occupations Anon. 251 



INTRODUCTION 



YOUNG LADIES' ELOCUTIONARY READER. 



RUDIMENTS OF ELOCUTION. 

ORTHOEPY. 

Articulation : Enunciation : Pronunciation. 

These three terms are properly thus distinguished: — Articulation 
designates the mechanical action of the organs of speech ; enuncia- 
tion, the utterance of the elementary sounds of a language, or of the 
component syllables of words ; pronunciation, the utterance of words. 
Orthoepy is the grammatical term for the mode or the art of pro- 
nouncing correctly. 

Orthoepy, as a branch of elocution, requires attention, first, to 
articulation, or the manner in which we exert the organs of speech ; 
as on this point the distinctness of enunciation, and the intelligible 
pronunciation of words, are wholly dependent. A slack, feeble, or 
indecisive use of the lips, the palate, the tongue, or the glottis, 
obscures or confounds the sounds of letters and syllables and, some- 
times, even of entire words. 

General Rule on Articulation. — Intelligible, correct, and impres- 
sive reading, requires due force and slowness, and perfect exactness, 
in the action of all the organs of speech. 

To comply with this rule, we must avoid all stooping and lounging 
postures of body : the head should be kept up, and the mouth freely 
opened in the act of articulation : we must avoid a feeble and imper- 
fect manner of breathing, and a languid, spiritless action of the 
tongue. 



Exercises in Articulation and Enunciation. 

The following exercises should be performed, 1st, in effusive 
utterance, or the gentle style of perfect tranquillity ; 2d, in expulsive 
style, or that of lively and bold expression ; 3d, in explosive style, or 



8 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

that of abrupt and vehement utterance, with the utmost intensity of 
force ; 4th, repeat the sounds, graduated as follows ; vein/ soft, soft, 
moderate, loud, very loud. 

The action of each class of organs should, in every instance, be 
carefully observed ; so that every sound uttered may be clear and 
exact, firm and full. 

SOUNDS FORMED BY THE GLOTTIS,* AND THE OPEN MOUTH. 

J-n 



•#-11 A-Ym A-n 


Ai-Y 


JG-rrf 


E-nd 


E~ve O-y O-n 


U-p 


Oo-ze 


L-oo-k 


Me J-des O-ld 


Ou-Y 
DENTALS. 


Oi-1 


U"-se, v. 


D-i-d T-en-f 


TH-ine Th-in 


J-oy 


Ch-wr-ch A-z-ure 


Fu-sh 

LABIALS. 


C-ea-se 


Z-one 


i?-a-6e P-i-pe M- 


■ai-m 


Woe P-al-ve F 


LINGUALS. 




PALATICS. 


L-u-ll .R-a-p Fa-r 




C-a-£e 


G-a-g- 


ASPIRATE 




NASALS. 


H-e 




N-u-n 


Si-nsf 



F-i-fe 
T-e 



COMBINATIONS OF CONSONANTS, IN INITIAL SYLLABLES. 

Bl, cl, fi, gl, pi, si, spl. 

Br, cr, dr, fr, gr, pr, spr, tr, str, shr. 

* Sm, sn, sp, st 

COMBINATIONS OF CONSONANTS, IN FINAL SYLLABLES. 

Id, If, Ik, lm, Ip, Is, Ise, It, Ive. 

m'd, ms, nd, ns, nk, nee, nt. 

rb, rd, rm, rn, rse, rs, rt, rve, rVd, rtfd, rm!d, rrtd, rst, n>V. 

sm, s'n, sp, st, ss'd, ks, ct, Kd, ft, f'd, pt, p'd, p'n, k?n, oVn, v'n, fn. 

1st, m'st, nst, rst, dst, rd'st, rm'dst, rrfdst. 

bit, pie, die, rl, bVd, dVd, pVd, rid. 

WORDS CONTAINING THE PRECEDING ELEMENTARY SOUNDS AND 
COMBINATIONS. 

•#-11, ball, fall ; A-Ym, harm, charm ; 

A-yi, and, as ; Ai-Y, hair, dare ; 

JE-rr, erst, earn; 22-nd, ebb, ell; 

J-n, if, is; .E-ve, eel, heed; 

* The opening of the larynx, or upper part of the windpipe, 
f The middle sound between ur and air. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 9 

O-r, orb, cord; O-n, off, odd; 

U-p, hut, tug', Oo-ze, moon, pool; 

L-oo-k, took, boot; Me, hail, pave; 

i-des, ice, isle ; O-ld, own, oar; 

Ou-r, out, ounce ; Oi-1, bo?/, jom ; 

£7-se, fume, cube : 

D-i-d, died, dared', T-en-t, fcmghJ, total; 

TH-ine, than, then; Th-in, thank, trough; 

Joy, June, jay ; Ch-ur-ch, cha.in, choose ; 

A-z-ure, seizure, measure ; Pn-sh, hush, rash ; 

C-ea-.se, cess, assist; Z-one, zany, zest; 

J3-a-oe, zm6i6e, ou661e ; P-i-pe, pope, peep ; 

M-ai-m, mime, ?raa'ara; W-oe, way, war; 

F-al-ve, revolve, vivid ; •^'-i-/ e > / a <le, fast ; 

L-u-ll, loll, pull; *R-ap, ran, rural; 

Fa-fr, ware, or; *i?-a-fre, rear, roar; 
C-a-ke, click, cook; G-ag*? gigg^i g* ar ^e; 

Y-e, yon, yet ; H~e, hail, have ; 

N-un, nine, noun; Su-ng, hang, rung. 

Blame, clear, fiy, glow, play, sleep, spleen ; 

Brave, creep, drive, free, grow, pray, spread, trust, strike, shroud ; 

.Small, snow, spar, s£ay ; 

Hold, elf, hulk, helm, scalp, hills, else, fault, twelve ; 

Aiiri'd, hums, end, vans, ink, dance, a.nt ; 

Barb, herd, farm, turn, verse, wars, art, curve, cwVd, lurk'd, ann'd, 

warned, first, carv'd; 
Chasm, ris'n, asp, must, hissW, stocks, act, raJid, waft, quaffed, apt, 

pip-'d, op-'n, ta&-'n, garden, riv-'n, ligh£-'n ; 
WhUrf, earnest, canst, first, wouldst, heardst, anrCdst, turn'dst ; 
Able, mapZe, ioYe, hurZ, disa&Z'd, hridVd, rippVd, world, 

COMMON ERRORS IN PRONUNCIATION. 

Oall, for all ; d'm, arm and aivrm, for arm ; 

May-un, for man ; ar, for air ; 

ZJrr, for err ; dynd, for end ; oa-ur, for 6r ; 

An, for on; dee, for 7; dur, for our, (o, as in done;) 

Oayl, for oil ; toon, for tune ; f a'm and farrm, for farm ; 

B'lieve, for believe ; p'lite, for polite ; c'lamity, for calamity ; 

Uppinion, for opinion ; pruppose, for propose ; 

* Hard, but not prolonged into a roll. f Soft, but never silent. 



10 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Ev'ry, for every ; sev'ral, for several ; trav'ller, for traveller ; des'late, 
for desolate ; rhet'ric, for rhetoric ; hist'ry, for history ; cha'ming, 
for charming ; wo'ldly, for worldly ; 

Trav'l, for travel ; lev'l, for level ; mod'l, for model ; sudd'n, for sud- 
den ; taken, for tak'n ; open, for op'n ; garden, for gard'n ; cert'n, 
for certain ; met'l, for metal ; music'l, for musical ; nash'n, for 
nation, (nashun;) momunt, for moment; independence, for inde- 
pendence ; meada, and meader, for meadow ; maomin', for morning* ; 

*#ybode, for abode ; ay man, for a man ; soda?/, for soda ; diverge, for 
diverge; direct, for direct ; customary, for customary; matrimony, 
for matrimony, (o, as in done ;) genuine, for genuine ; juvenile, for 
juvenile ; dilatory, for dilatory, (o, as in done ;) dootiful, for dwtiful ; 
constitoot, for constitute ; institootion, for institution ; 

Pre~'face, for preface ; prelate, for predate ; re-creation, for rec-rea- 
tion ; re-laxation, for rel-axation ; 

De'tail, for detail' ; retail, for retail 7 ; 

Creator, for creator, (o, as in done.) * 

The preceding are but specimens of the numerous errors which, 
in negligent usage, are frequently transferred from faulty habits in 
conversation to the style of juvenile reading, and which common 
custom too often sanctions. To avoid these and similar errors, the 
elementary sounds, simple and compound, and their combinations in 
syllables and words, should be frequently and carefully repeated. A 
part of every reading exercise should be closely studied and thor- 
oughly analyzed, for the purpose of defining the exact sound of the 
syllables and letters in every word ; — the pupils of a class discuss- 
ing, each one a word., in turn, and giving first, with a distinct enun- 
ciation, the sound of every letter, then of every syllable, then of the 
whole word, — first, with great slowness and exactness and full force 
of utterance, — afterwards, in a spirited, easy, and natural style. It 
is a useful exercise, also, to read a few lines of every lesson back- 
ward, so as to secure attention to exactness in the formation of 
sounds. 



CULTIVATION OF THE VOICE. 

A correct utterance implies, in addition to distinct enunciation, 
what is usually termed " a good voice" By this phrase is meant a 
full, round, clear, smooth, and agreeable sound, such as is properly 
formed by the organs of speech, in distinct and animated conversa- 
tion, or in appropriate reading. 

* For a more extended enumeration of common errors, see Russell's " Les- 
sons in Enunciation/ 7 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. Jl 

A " bad voice" has usually a thin, feeble, sharp, husk}/, hard, gut- 
tural or nasal sound. 

The mode of utterance, — recognized as a good voice, — is one 
cause of distinct enunciation : that of a defective voice, tends to indis- 
tinctness and confusion of sound. The former is pleasing ; the latter, 
displeasing to the ear. No person can read agreeably, who has a 
defective voice. 

Care and attention, with diligent practice, wiJl keep young persons 
from falling into bad habits of voice. It is habit, chiefly, which makes 
bad voices. All voices are naturally good, till domestic and local 
habits spoil them. Wrong habits of voice can be easily corrected in 
early life. Hence the importance of attentive training in the right 
use of the vocal organs, during the period of education. 

The quality of the voice, depends in part, on the right position of 
the organs ; just, as the sound of any instrument depends on its being 
rightly held. We see this exemplified when a learner is attempting 
to play on the flute, and, not holding it rightly, makes it give out a 
hissing disagreeable note ; while a skilful player, who holds the instru- 
ment in its true position, produces from it a clear, sweet, and smooth 
tone. 

To utter full and agreeable sounds with the voice, therefore, we 
must first put all the organs of vocal sound into their true position : 
we must stand or sit erect, — not lounging or stooping ; we must 
expand the chest by holding the shoulders back ; we must keep the 
head up, and the mouth freely open, in the act of utterance. 

Having attended to correct attitude, we must next observe the rule 
of breathing slowly and fully; so as to draw in a sufficient supply of 
breath, to make a full sound : we must be careful never to get out of 
breath, by neglecting to draw it in, in due season. Our rule, in this 
respect, should be, to take a little breath at every perceptible pause, 
so as to keep the lungs always supplied. In forming the breath into 
sound, we should not empty the lungs all at once, or, as it were, spill 
out the breath, but give it forth rather sparingly, unless in violent 
emotion. 

Practice and training enable the reader, as well as the singer, to 
give powerful and lonof-sustained sounds, without waste of breath, 
and without fatigue. The muscles which move and adjust our organs 
of voice, are, like those of all other parts of the body, susceptible of a 
high degree of vigour and perfection in their action ; and diligent cul- 
tivation produces in this, as in other things, the most useful and 
beautiful results. 

The training of the voice, when systematically practised, renders it 
comparatively perfect, as an instrument, and imparts to it the highest 
degrees of strength, and pliancy, and agreeable effect. The follow- 
ing exercises should be practised daily, with the utmost attention to 
the sound of the voice, that it be clear, true, round, full, and even, in 
its effect on the ear. Care should be taken, at the same time, to 
keep it soft or loud, high or low, fast or slow, or moderate, as the 
utterance of the prevalent emotion, in each example, requires. 



12 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

EXERCISES FOR FORMING THE VOICE. 
Moderate and Quiet Tones, 

Example 1. 

" It is content of heart 

Gives nature power to please: 

The mind that feels no smart, 
Enlivens all it sees ; 

Can make a wintry sky- 
Seem bright as smiling May, 

And evening's closing eye 
As peep of early day." 

2. 

" The breath of spring awakens the flowers, and gives the promise 
of fruits. The summer brings the riches of the harvest The 
autumn displays the fruits that spring has promised. Winter, 
which is the night of the year, treasures up all its riches, only in 
order that the following spring may bring them forth with new 
beauty." 



Lively Utterance. 

1. 

" Up ! — let us to the fields away, 
And breathe the fresh and balmy air: 

The bird is building in the tree ; 

The flower has opened to the bee ; 

And health, and love, and peace are there." 

2. 

♦ To set pride in its true light, we will fancy, if you please, that 
yonder ant-hill is inhabited by reasonable creatures, and that every 
insect, (his shape and way of life excepted,) is endowed with human 
passions. How should we smile to hear one give us an account of 
the pedigrees, distinctions, and titles, that reign among them ! Ob- 
serve how the whole swarm divide, and make way for the emmet 
that passes through them ! You must understand that he is a person 
of quality, and has better blood in his veins, than any ant on the hill. 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 13 

Do not you see how sensible he is of it, — how slowly he marches 
forward, — how the whole rabble of ants keep their distance ? — 
Here you may observe one placed upon a little eminence, and looking 
down on a long row of labourers. He is the richest insect on this 
side the hillock ; he has a walk of half a yard in length, and a 
quarter of an inch in breadth ; he keeps a hundred menial servants, 
and has at least fifteen barleycorns in his granary. 

u We will now suppose, if you please, — that death comes down 
upon the ant-hill, in the shape of a sparrow, who picks up the emmet 
of substance and his day-labourers. — May we not imagine that beings 
of superior natures regard all the instances of pride and vanity among 
our own species in the same point of view, when they take a survey 
of those who inhabit the earth, — or, in the language of an ingenious 
French poet, — of those emmets that people this heap of dirt, which 
human vanity has divided into climates and regions ? " 



Loud and Full Utterance. 

1. 

" Bird of the broad and sweeping wing ! 

Thy home is high in heaven, 
Where wide the storms their banners fling, 

And the tempest clouds are driven. 
Thy throne is on the mountain top; 

Thy fields, the boundless air; 
And hoary peaks, that proudly prop 

The skies, — thy dwellings are ! " 

2. 

" Are the properties of matter all discovered ? — its laws all found 
out ? — the uses -to which they may be applied, all detected ? I 
cannot believe it. — The progress winch has been made in art and 
science, is, indeed, vast We are ready to think that a pause must 
follow, that the goal must be at hand. But there is no goal, and 
there can be no pause ; for art and science are in themselves progres- 
sive. They are moving powers, animating principles: they are 
instinct with life ; they are themselves the intellectual life of man. 
Nothing can arrest them, which does not plunge the entire order of 
society into barbarism. There is no end to truth, no bound to its 
discovery and application ; and a man might as well think to build a 
2 



14 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

tower, from the top of which he could grasp Sirius in his hand, as 
prescribe a limit to discovery and invention." 



Bold and very Loud Utterance. 



" King of the East ! the trumpet calls, 

That calls thee to a tyrant's grave. 
A curse is on thy palace walls, — 

A curse is on thy guardian wave ; 
A surge is in Euphrates' bed, 

That never filled its bed before, — 
A surge that ere the morn be red, 

Shall load with death its haughty shore! 
Behold a tide of Persian steel, — 

A torrent of the Median car ! 
Like flame their gory banners wheel — 

Rise, king, and arm thee for the war!" 

2. 

" Read the declaration of our independence at the head of the 
army, — every sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the 
solemn vow uttered, to maintain it, or to perish on the bed of honour. 
Publish it from the pulpit, — religion will approve it ; and the love of 
religious liberty will cling round it, resolved to stand with it, or fall 
with it Send it to the public halls, — proclaim it there, — let them 
hear it, who heard the first roar of the enemy's cannon, — let them 
see it, who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the field of 
Bunker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord ; — and the 
very walls will cry out in its support ! " 



Calm and Gentle Tones. 

1. 

" On thy fair bosom, silver lake ! 

Oh! I could ever sweep the oar, 
When early birds at morning wake, 

And evening tells us toil is o'er. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 15 

" How sweet, at set of sun, to view 
Thy golden mirror spreading wide, 

And see the mist of mantling blue 

Float round the distant mountain's side ! 

" On thy fair bosom, waveless stream ! 

The dipping paddle echoes far, 
And flashes in the moonlight gleam, 

And bright reflects the polar star." 

2. 

"Blessed are they that mourn; for they shall be comforted. 
Blessed are the merciful ; for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are 
the pure in heart ; for they shall see God. Blessed are the peace- 
makers ; for they shall be called the children of God." 

3. 

" The smiles of a mother call into exercise the first affections that 
spring up in our hearts. She cherishes and expands the earliest 
germs of our intellects. She breathes over us her deepest devotions. 
She lifts our little hands, and teaches our little tongues to lisp in 
prayer. She watches over us, like a guardian angel, and protects us 
through all our helpless years, when we know not of her cares and 
her anxieties on our account. She follows us into the world of men, 
and lives in us, and blesses us, when she lives not otherwise upon the 
earth." 



Soft and Subdued Utterance. 

1. 

" Light be the heart of the poor lonely wanderer, 
Firm be his step through each wearisome mile, 
Far from the cruel man, far from the plunderer, 
Far from the track of the mean and the vile ! 
And when death, with the last of its terrors, assails him, 
And all but the last throb of memory fails him, 
He'll think of the friend, far away, that bewails him, 
And light up the cold touch of death with a smile." 



16 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

2. 

" Behold the humble habitation of the poor, where the scanty sup- 
ply procured by labour, is interrupted by disease. The father, laid 
upon his bed of straw, desponding and heart-broken; the mother? 
wiping the tears silently away, while attending at his side ; the chil- 
dren, in want of clothing and of bread ; and this, within sight of some 
opulent mansion, whose inmates squander, in dissipation, what would 
give them comfort and support. Observe the entrance of some 
benevolent visitor, who speaks to them in language of kindness, 
directs their trust in Providence, leads them to use the prayer of 
resignation and of faith, and gives them the means of alleviating 
their misery, until he comes again ; and say whether it is not better 
to go to the house of mourning, than to the house of feasting." 



Soft, Low, Sloiv, and Solemn Tones. 

1. 

"The loving ones we loved the best, 

Like music all are gone ! 
And the wan moonlight bathes in rest 

Their monumental stone ! 

"But not when the death-prayer is said, 

The life of life departs : 
The body in the grave is laid, — 

Its beauty in our hearts. 

"And holy midnight voices sweet, 

Like fragrance fill the room ; 
And happy ghosts, with noiseless feet, 

Come brightening from the tomb." 

2. 

" There is a murmur in the heath ! — the stormy winds abate ! 1 
hear the voice of Fingal. Long has it been absent from mine ear ! 
* Come, Ossian, come away ! '■ he says. Fingal has received his 
fame. We passed away, like flames that had shone for a season. 
Our departure was in renown. Though the plains of our battles are 
dark and silent, our fame is in the four gray stones. The voice of 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 17 

Ossian has been heard. The harp has been strung in Selma. 
1 Come, Ossian, come away ! ' he says, i come, fly with thy fathers 
on the clouds ! ' — I come, I come, thou king of men ! The life of 
Ossian fails. I begin to vanish in Cona. My steps are not seen in 
Selma. Beside the stone of Mora I shall fall asleep. The winds 
whistling in my gray hairs, shall not awaken me. Depart on thy 
wings, O wind ! — thou canst not disturb the rest of the bard. The 
night is long; but his eyes are heavy. — Depart, thou rustling 
blast ! " 



Boldy Deep, and Vivid Tones. 

" Thou grim King of terrors ! thou life's gloomy foe ! 

Go, frighten the coward and slave ! 
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! — but know, 

No terrors hast thou to the brave ! " 



Forcible, Ah % upt, High, and Rapid Utterance. 

"Forth from the pass in tumult driven, 
Like chaff before the winds of heaven, 

The archery appear; 
For life, for life their flight they ply, 
While shriek and shout and battle-cry, 
And plaids and bonnets waving high, 
And broadswords flashing to the sky, 

Are maddening in their rear ! " 



Shouting. 

"Joy, joy forever! — my task is done! 
The gates are passed, and heaven is won ! " 



Deep, Forcible, Sublime, and Solemn Utterance. 

" Oh ! clap your hands, all ye people ; shout unto God with the 
voice of triumph ! For the Lord Most High is terrible : he is a great 
King over all the earth. 
<2* 



18 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

" God is gone up with a shout, the Lord with the sound of a 
trumpet. Sing praises to God, sing praises : sing praises unto our 
King, sing praises ; for God is the King of all the earth." 



Varied Tones. 



[Firm, Forcible Utterance, increasing in Energy and Rapidity, and 
rising in Pitch.] " I stood in the darkness of my strength. Toscar 
drew his sword at my side. The foe came on like a stream. The 
mingled sound of death arose. Man took man ; shield met shield ; 
steel mixed its beams with steel. Darts hiss through air. Spears 
ring on mail. Swords on broken bucklers bound. As the noise of 
an aged grove, beneath the roaring wind, when a thousand ghosts 
break the trees by night, such was the din of arms." 

[Change to Low, Soft, and Slow, with Long Pauses ; — the whole 
effect becoming continually lower, softer and slower, and the pauses 
lengthening.] " But Uthal fell beneath my sword. The sons of 
Berrathon fled. It was then I saw him in his beauty, and the tear 
hung in my eye ! ' Thou art fallen, young tree,' I said, ■ with all thy 
beauty around thee ! Thou art fallen on thy plains, and the field is 
bare. The winds come from the desert ! — there is no sound in thy 
leaves ! — Lovely art thou in death, son of car-borne Larthmore ! ' " 



To these exercises should be added an extensive course of practice 
on the miscellaneous pieces, with a view to facilitate the acquisition 
of a perfect command over the voice, in all forms of utterance, and a 
varied style of reading corresponding to every change, in sense and 
expression. 



" INFLECTIONS," OR " SLIDES," AND " WAVES," WITH THEIR 
"INTERVALS." 

[The following definitions, and rules have, at the request of in- 
structors who prefer to follow the exact system laid down by Dr. 
Rush, been adapted to his Philosophy of the Voice. Teachers who 
prefer practical methods of teaching by ear, can easily accommodate 
their instruction to their own views, by omitting the technical nomen- 
clature, and retaining the fact s imbodied in the rules and definitions.] 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 19 

The term " interval " is used, in elocution, to denote the distance which 
the voice traverses, in passing from one point of the musical scale to 
another, above or below. "Intervals" are termed "concrete" when 
the voice, in transition, slides through several notes continuously, — 
" discrete" when it passes from note to note by successive skips. — 
Utter the interrogation, " Did you call ? " in such a manner as to give 
emphatic force to the word "you" as well as a still stronger force to 
the word "call;" and the words "you" and "call" will exemplify 
successive skips, or " discrete intervals ; " while each of the same 
words, taken by itself, will exhibit a " concrete interval " of continu- 
ous sound, gliding upward. In the " discrete interval,'' the voice 
moves with an effect resembling that produced by running up or 
down the keys of a pianoforte : in the " concrete," the effect is 
like that of the " mewing " sound of the violin, when the performer 
glides up or down the scale, with one prolonged and unbroken 
sweep. 

We hear an effect similar to the last mentioned, when we utter a 
question with a drawling voice, or with real or feigned surprise. The 
interrogatory exclamation, " eh ? " * drawn out to great length, — as in 
extreme surprise, " eh ? " * will serve as an illustration of a wide up- 
ward " concrete interval." This transit of voice is, in the language 
of elocution, termed an upward " slide," or rising " inflection." Sup- 
pose the person to whom the question is put, to answer in a tone of 
great contempt, or one of strong assurance, with the monosyllable 
" Yes." * The voice would now glide down, in a " concrete interval," 
or continuous sound, of several successive notes. This transition 
is called, in elocution, & downward "slide," or falling "inflection." 
The extent of the " interval," is, in all such cases, in exact accord- 
ance with the degree of emotion intended to be expressed : it may be 
of any measure on the musical scale, from the plaintive semitone, or 
half-note, to the wider " interval " of a full tone, or to the still wider 
" intervals " of the " third," the " fifth," the " octave," or even beyond ; 
and its effect may be vastly increased by doubling the " slide," or 
causing it to run first upward and then downward, or the reverse. 
The " side" thus doubled, is termed a " wave," f or " circumflex." 



The Semitone, 



We may commence the analysis of " concrete intervals," with the 
slightest of all, — the upward or downward semitone. 

Rule. — The semitone is the peculiar characteristic " expression " 
of pathos, tenderness, grief, and all kindred emotions. 

* The acute accent denotes the upward u slide,' 7 or rising u inflection 3 " and 
the grave accent, the downward u slide," or falling u inflection." 

t The " wave " is called direct, when it first rises and then falls : inverted, 
when it first falls and then rises. The former is sometimes called the falling 
"circumflex," and is usually marked thus A, the latter the rising " circum- 
flex," and usually marked thus \/. 



20 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

The plaintive and wailing effect of semitone, is, in music, termed 
" chromatic." It is familiar to all ears, in the cries of the infant and 
the child, in the condoling accents of the mother, or in the soothing 
address of tender and sympathetic feeling, generally. As an element 
of expression in elocution, it exerts a great power over feeling, and 
is an indispensable point of true tone and genuine emotion. 

Example of Pathetic Semitone, 

" She lies upon her pillow, pale, 

And mourns within her sleep, 
Or waketh with a patient smile 

And striveth not to weep." 



The Interval of a Tone, or the " Second." 

The next " concrete interval," is that of the full tone, or the contin- 
uous transition from one note to the next above or below. This in- 
terval is so slight as to be barely perceptible to the ear, as a rise or 
fall of the voice. It is, in its upward form, the usual extent of a 
vowS. sound, when not uttered in the mood of feeling, — in articulat- 
ing the letter a, for example. 



T7ie Upward "Slide" of the" Second? in Mechanical Reading. 

Rule. — This mode of utterance prevails in the dry, technical style 
of reading documents, law-papers, advertisements, proclamations, &c, 
as in these, the mere function of articulation suffices for the sense. 

Advertisement. " Just received, — a fresh supply of splendid cash- 
meres, which the ladies are earnestly requested to call and examine 
early ; as the rapid sale of these superb shawls makes delay more 
than usually dangerous." 

Document. " This may certify that A. B. has been in my employ- 
ment, as clerk, for the last three years, and that, during that time, his 
diligence and fidelity in the discharge of his duties, have been in the 
highest degree satisfactory." 



"Monotone." 



But if we deepen the sound of the voice in pitch, give it the reso- 
nant effect of full and round utterance, swelling; tone, and prolonged 
sounds on vowels, dwelling on the middle of each sound, and omitting 
the usual vauses ; the same style which was so flat and inexpressive, 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 21 

becomes the language of the highest sublimity, or the profoundest 
awe. — This style of the upward " second," is termed "monotone." 

Rale on "Monotone?— We observe the peculiar effect of "mono- 
tone," in the language of devotion, or in the reading of impressive 
passages of Scripture, — the book of Revelation, for example. 

The mechanical style of voice first mentioned, is appropriately 
termed monotony : we call the style of reading, in such instances, 
monotonous. The impressive style of awe, solemnity, and grandeur, 
is, in the language of elocution, termed " monotone ; " as its peculiar 
effect arises from the reiteration of one and the same tone, corre- 
sponding, as it were, to the tolling of a bell. 

The command of the " monotone " is indispensable to full solemnity 
and great sublimity of " expression" The following example should 
be repeated till its characteristic mode of utterance is fully acquired. 

Example of " Monotone" — *" Blessing, and glory, and wisdom, 
and thanksgiving, and honour, and power, and might, be unto our 
God, for ever and ever!" 



The Upward and the Downward " Slide" of the "Second "in Phrases. 

Rule. — These "slides," uttered in a style more perceptible and 
marked, than in the preceding instances, are used to indicate, the 
former the incompleteness of sense ; and the latter, its partial completeness, 
in phrases too brief to require the upward and the downward slides of 
the " third," or any higher interval. 

These inflections are distinct, but delicate and slight : and should 
be carefully guarded from rising in the style of question, and falling 
in that of cadence, — which are very common errors. 

Example. 
" At this crisis, the clouds, which had long been lowering, broke 
suddenly, and poured down rain in torrents on our heads." 



The Downward " Slide " of the " Second," in Designation and 
Enumeration. 

Rule. — Designation and enumeration, are marked by the downward 
"slide" of the "second," unless in long clauses, or emphatic expres- 
sion, which require, usually, the interval of the " third." 

* This mark (-) over successive words, is used to indicate n monotone/' 



22 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Example of Designation. — " There stood on the banks of the Sar- 
anac, a smal], neat cottage, which peeped forth from the surrounding 
foliage, — the image of rural quiet and contentment. An old-fash- 
ioned piazza extended along the front, shaded with vines and honey- 
suckle ; the turf on the bank of the river, was of the richest and 
brightest emerald." 

Enumeration. — " She would note, with surprising discrimination, 
the various effects of the weather upon the surrounding landscape ; — 
the mountains wrapped in clouds ; the torrents roaring down their 
sides, in times of tempest ; the bright, warm sunshine, the cooling 
showers, the pale, cold moon." 

A succession of words, or clauses, like the above, is termed, in elo- 
cution, a " concluding series ; " — as the series, or succession, con- 
cludes or completes the expression of a thought, and forms perfect 
sense, at its close. 

The penultimate member of a concluding series, is excepted from 
the above rule, and takes a rising inflection, — usually a " third," — 
to enable the voice to descend easily and naturally at the cadence, — 
which would otherwise be abrupt and awkward. 

A " commencing series," or that in which the members commence, 
but do not complete, a thought, would be exemplified by changing 
the preceding example, as follows : — 

" The various effects of the weather upon the surrounding land- 
scape ; — the mountains wrapped in clouds ; the torrents roaring down 
their sides, in times of tempest ; the bright, warm sunshine ; the 
cooling showers ; the pale, cold moon, were noted by her wuth surpris- 
ing discrimination." 

The sense being incomplete, at the termination of the " commen- 
cing series," the upward slide takes place, on the last member, to form 
a connecting link of sound to the following phrase. 

Note 1. — Bold and abrupt expression, and emphatic language, gen- 
erally, cause the "series," of both kinds, to take the downward 
"slide," of the "third," or "fifth," on all the members, without dis- 
tinction. 

Example. — " All is concentred in a life intense, 

Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost" — 

Note 2. — Poetry and, occasionally, prose, — in the expression of 
sublimity, beauty, or pathos, — give the upward " second" or the 
" monotone," to all the members of a " series," excepting only the 
last of a concluding one. 

Examples. — " O'er fell and fountain sheen, 

O'er moor and mountain green, 
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, 
Over the cloudlet dim, 
Over the rainbow's rim, 
Musical cherub, soar, singing away!" 



YOUNG LADIES 7 READER. 23 

" Here were the rotten beam, the sinking arch, the sapped and 
mouldering wall, the lowly trench of earth, the stately tomb, on which 
no epitaph remained ; — all, — marble, stone, iron, wood, and dust, — 
one common monument of ruin." 

" A silence, solemn, deep, serene, 
Which makes His presence felt abroad, — 

This is the mean which lies between 
Our spirits and the living God." 

Note 3. — Strong emotion, and forcible expression, however, even 
in poetry are marked, in " series," by the bold downward " slide " of 
the " third," " fifth," or even the " octave." 

Example, 
"We've sworn by our country's assaulters, 
By the virgins they've dragged from our altars, 
By our massacred patriots, our children in chains, 
By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins,* 
That, living, we will be victorious, 
Or that, dying, our death shall be glorious." 

One of the most striking faults, by which reading is rendered me- 
chanical and artificial, is that of transcending the appropriate interval 
of a tone, in short clauses, and extending the transition to a " third" 
or the distance of two notes instead of one, — when neither emphasis, 
nor contrast, nor interrogation, nor cadence demand it. The style of 
voice loses, in this way, a natural, conversational character, and be- 
comes formal and unmeaning. — The proper remedy for this fault, is 
to repeat frequently the examples of unimpassioned style, in plain 
narrative, descriptive, and didactic composition, with the attention 
carefully fixed on the mode of utterance, to keep it free from the 
measured and arbitrary effect of what is distinctively called a " read- 
ing tone," and to mould it in the style of conversation, without, how- 
ever, letting it assume a mere " talking tone." 



"Slides" of the " Third," "Fifth," and " Octave." 

General Rule. — These wider upward and downward " intervals," 
belong to the various stages of question and answer, of distinctive and 
suspended sense, of cadence, and of strong emotion — whether in the 
comparatively moderate form of the " slide," or the peculiar effect of 
the " wave" 

Note. — The " slides," of the larger " intervals," belong to the ex- 
pression of the strongest emotion. 

* The rising inflection in this line, being the last of a " commencing series," 
is the connective tone to the following sense. 



24 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Examples of the Upward and Downward Slides of the Third. — " Is 
the night clear or cloudy ? " 

" Was it a man or a boy that passed ? " 

" The gospel offers its blessings equally to the rich and to the p6or." 
" The refreshing rain falls alike on the just and the unjust" 
" The cheerful man diffuses around him a continual sunshine ; the 
morose, a perpetual gloom." 

" Though I know neither the time nor the manner of the death I am 
to die, I am not at all solicitous about it ; because I am sure that He 
who created me, knows them both, and that He will not fail to com- 
fort and support me under them." 

Upward and Downward Slides of the Fifth. — " Could not he, who 
opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should 
not have died ? " 

" On with the dance ! — let joy be unconf ined ! 
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet ! " 

" Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come ! " 

" Come along, girls ! Helen ! Caroline ! I say, don't stand jabber- 
ing there upon the stairs, but come down this instant ; or Dash and I 
will be oif without you ! " 

Upward and Downward Slides of the Octave. — " All this dread order 
break ? — for whom ? — for thee ! 
Vile worm ! — Oh ! madness ! — pride ! — impiety ! " 

Rules on the Downward " Slide.'* 1 1. — The unimpassioned down- 
ward " slide," of the " third," is used for distinction, in correspondence, 
or in contrast, with the upward of the same " interval." 

Example. — " Olivia wished for many lovers ; Sophia, to secure 
one. Olivia was often affected, from too great a desire to please ; 
Sophia even repressed excellence, from her fear to offend. The one 
entertained me with her vivacity, when I was gay ; the other with 
sense, when I was serious." 

2. — The unimpassioned " downward third " is, also, the indication, 
to the ear, of complete sense at colons, and, sometimes, at semicolons. 

Note. — This slide usually begins on a " discrete " or "radical" 
pitch above the level of the preceding clause ; which keeps it from 
assuming the effect of a cadence, — the common fault of inattentive 
or inadvertent reading. 

Example. — " My wife always insisted that our relations, how hum- 
ble soever they might be, should sit with us at the same table : so 
that if we had not very rich, we generally had very happy friends 
about us ; for this remark will hold good through life, that the poorer 
the guest, the better pleased he ever is with being treated ; and, as 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 25 

some men gaze with admiration at the colours of a tulip, or the wing 
of a butterfly, so I was by nature an admirer of happy human faces." 
3. — The " cadence " at & period, is usually formed by a" discrete " 
descent of three successive sounds, the last of which terminates with 
a downward " vanish ," and thus creates the sense of repose and com- 
pleteness, which is appropriate to the close of a sentence, and the 
conclusion of a sentiment 

The deviations from the true " melody " or successive notes of ca- 
dence, are various in style, according to the habits of individuals. 
Persons who enjoy the advantage of musical culture and discrimination, 
or who have the aid of an instructor, can correct any false habit of voice, 
by reference to the exact " interval " mentioned : others will best suc- 
ceed by closely observing the style of cadence in conversation, and bring- 
ing the close of sentences, in reading, as near as possible to that standard. 

Rules on the Upward Slide. — 1. — The impassioned upward " slide " 
of the " third," " fifth," and " octave," occurs in the various stages of 
" expression," in the language of surprise and interrogation. — See pre- 
vious Examples. 

Note. — Emphatic interrogation takes the downward, instead of 
the upward " slide." 

Example. — " Is it possible ? Can you believe it ? " 

2. — The unimpassioned upvjard " third " is used at the end of a 
long clause in which the sense remains suspended, or incomplete, and 
the effect of expectation of farther expression, is intentionally created 
by the tone of the voice. 

Example. — " As the life-boat, and the safety-gun, which succeeded 
in all that they were made to do, while the sea was calm, and the winds 
still, have been known to fail, when the vessel was tossed on a tem- 
pestuous ocean ; so those who may successfully oppose principle to 
temptation, when the tempest of the passions is not awakened within 
their bosoms, may sometimes be overwhelmed by its power, when it 
meets them in all its awful energy and unexpected violence." 

Note. — Interrogation which does not admit of an answer by 
" yes " or " no," terminates with a downward " slide." 

Example. — " How, when, or where did that event happen ? " 



The " Circumflex," Wave, or Double « Slide." 

Rule 1. — The "wave," in its equable and gentlest effect, of a rise 
and a fall, each of one tone, gives " expression " to solemnity and 
3 



2(3 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

reverence, in the prolonged sounds of devotion, in passages peculiarly 
characterized by such emotion. 

Note. — The effect of the voice dwelling on the middle part of 
each accented vowel sound, in such expression, is that, nearly, of 
absolute monotone. 

Example. — Kdlyl holy! holy Lord God of Sabaoth ! " 

Rule 2. — The equal " wave " of the " third" is used in close, moral, 
logical, and verbal distinctions, in peculiar emphasis 071 words, as such, 
in punning, and in all similar effects of language. 

Example of Distinction. — "If my uncle, thy banished father, had 
banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with 
me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine ; so 
wouldst thou, if the truth of thy Jove to me were so righteously tem- 
pered as mine is to thee." 

Example of Verbal Emphasis. — "It often happens, in adapting 
music to translated words, that the finest notes in the air fall upon the 
most insignificant words in the sentence. I have known the word 
and pursued through the whole gamut, have been entertained with 
many a melodious the, and have heard the most beautiful graces, 
quavers, and divisions bestowed upon then, for, and from, to the eter- 
nal honour of our English particles." 

Example of Punning. — A few years ago, the editor of the " Nan- 
tucket Inquirer," who preferred the use of the letter / as the initial of 
the word " inquirer," was annoyed by the practice of his contemporary 
in New York, who preferred the orthography of " .Enquirer," and, in 
quoting from the Nantucket paper, changed the spelling to suit his 
own practice. The aggrieved party, at last losing patience, threw 
down the editorial gauntlet, in the following professional terms. 
" Our neighbour of New York cannot well expect to find himself long 
at his jC-s, if he keeps putting out other people's i-s." 

Rule 3. — Unequal " waves," extending to " fifths," " octaves," and 
larger " intervals," and sometimes even assuming the form of a double, 
or repeated " wave," occur in the language of scorn, contempt, sarcasm, 
irony, burlesque, ridicule, and similar emotions. 

Examples. — "Yes, they will give enlightened freedom to our 
minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion." 

" Thou Fortune's champion ! that dost never fight 
But when her humorous ladyship is by, 
To teach thee safety ! " 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 27 



The length of pauses, in reading, does not always depend on the 
grammatical punctuation, as indicated by the comma, semicolon, &c., 
but on the mood of feeling and '• expression," on impassioned utterance, 
and, consequently, on the k< movement " of the voice, as fast or slow. 
The observ mce of " time," in reading, implies that slow u move- 
ment" is always accompanied by long pauses, and brisk or rapid 
" movement," by shoit ones. 

Repeat, for illustration, tiie various examples as classified for prac- 
tice in the cultivation of the voice, with the attention closely fixed on 
the comparative length of the pauses. It will be perceived, from this 
exercise, that the degree of velocity or slowness in the voice, decides 
the length of the pauses, for every gradation of " movement" 

But there are pauses required in reading, which are not marked in 
the grammatical punctuation. These are, 1st, such as feeling sug- 
gests, and occurring at any part of a sentence, in which strong emo- 
tion is expressed. For these pauses there is no fixed rule : they may 
be as frequent and as long as the reader feels to be appropriate, 
according to the degree of emotion implied in the language of the 
composition, 

2d. There are also pauses required by the sense of phrases and of 
words, which do not depend on feeling, but on judgment. These are 
termed " rhetorical " pauses, and are usually, — though not always, — 
shorter than the pause at a comma. They may be comprehended, 
with a very few exceptions, under the following 

General Rule. — " Rhetorical " pauses are used to divide clauses 
into phrases, and to mark significant words. — The length of 
these pauses, is in accordance with that of a phrase, or with the sig- 
nificance of a word. 

Examples. — " Among the earliest indications of the poetical char- 
acter | in this child, were her perceptions of the beauty of natural 
scenery. Her home | was in a picturesque neighbourhood, calculated 
to awaken ! and foster ' such perceptions. The following description 
of it jl is taken ' from one of her own writings." * 



EMPHASIS. 

" Emphasis," though too commonly restricted to the notion of mere 
comparative force of utterance on certain words, is, properly, nothing 
else than "expression" concentrated and condensed into the ac- 
cented syllable of the prominent expressive or significant word of a 
sentence or a clause. It may be analyzed into the same elements as 
" expression ; " and though it usually implies comparative or superior 
force, — it cannot be given forth, in passages marked by any degree 
of emotion, without a combination of many other elements. 

* The marks in the above example, indicate the comparative length of the 
u rhetorical " pauses. 



28 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

The emphatic words, for example, in the line of poetry, 

"It thunders: sons of dust, in reverence bow!" 

derive their effect not merely from their superior force of sound, but 
from their condensing, into the limited space of a single word, the 
full " expressive " effect of the feeling of awe, which pervades the 
utterance of the whole line. The emphasis will cease to be that of 
true utterance and genuine emotion, if any one of the elements 
expressive of awe, — "low pitch," "subdued force," or "slow move- 
ment," for example, be subtracted from the effect of the voice. — 
Emphasis is, to phrases and sentences, what accent is to words, — 
concentrated and absorbing/orce of utterance. But it is also much 
more : it often comprises all the elements which constitute an impres- 
sive mode of voice, concentrated upon one word. 

The common fault, as regards emphasis, is that of slighting or 
neglecting it, or uttering it imperfectly, — a defect in " expression," 
which takes away the energy and life of the voice, deducts from the 
earnest manner of sincere sentiment, and leaves the sense of every 
sentence in partial or entire obscurity. Emphasis, however, is often 
overdone, and rendered hard and laborious, — a fault which is pecu- 
liarly uncomfortable and irksome to the ear. 

Practice, with a view to the acquisition of energetic and impressive 
emphasis, should be frequently repeated, on passages of poetry, for 
the purpose of facilitating the utterance of impassioned force, — and 
on prose compositions, in " declamatory " and didactic style, with a 
view to exact and spirited but easy expression, in distinctive and an- 
tithetic language, in which emphasis depends on the " slides " and 
" waves " of the voice. 

It may be a useful exercise to review, for this particular object, the 
exercises prescribed for the cultivation of the voice ; and appropriate 
selections may, afterwards, be made, for the same purpose, from the 
miscellaneous pieces in subsequent pages. 



"expression." 



" Expression," in elocution, has the same signification as in music. 
It denotes the characteristic utterance of feeling, as distinguished 
from mere enunciation. Thus, the following line may be read as in 
articulation, merely, — in the style of syllabic utterance, with no 
regard to sense, but only to the proper combination of sounds in the 
words, as they would be pronounced, if they stood apart from each 
other, or formed no connected sentiment 

11 It thunders sons of dust in reverence bow " 

The same line may, on the other hand, be read with deep and full 
emotion, constituting what is termed " expression," and producing a 
vivid sympathy with the spirit of the poetic scene. The mere enun- 
ciation of the words, has a dry, unmeaning, inexpressive effect of 
simple mechanical utterance. It keeps one note, one degree of force > 



YOUNG ladies' reader. 29 

one uniform rate, one length of pause, throughout : the whole style is 
flat and uninteresting. 

" Expression" applied to the reading of this line, comprises all the 
following effects : 1st, " Pectoral quality" or the deep, murmuring 
resonance of the chest ; — 2d, " Suppressed" force, in an approach to 
whispering utterance; — 3d, ''.Median stress" or perceptible and full 
■ swell," on the emphatic words, ' thunders,'' ' dust,' ' reverence,'' and 
1 bow ; ' — 4th, " Very low " pitch, the peculiarly deep note of awe ; — 5th, 
The downward " slide " of the " fifth," on the emphatic words, ■ thun- 
ders,' 'reverence,'' and 'bow;' — Oth, Prolonged " quantity," on the 
accented syllables of the words ' thunders,' 1 and ' reverence,' and on 
the diphthong of the word 'bow;' — 7th, Very slow "movement ;" — 
8th, Very long pauses; — 9th, The full musical effect of metrical 
" rhythm." 

Divested of any one of all these elements, the line will sound de- 
fective to feeling and to the ear : combining them, it falls on the ear 
and the heart with the effect which we term " expression" 

u Expression," accordingly, should characterize all reading that is 
true to feeling ; whether blended with thought, and constituting senti- 
ment, or existing in the form of mere emotion, — apart, for the moment, 
from the influence of thought and reflection. The voice, under the 
influence of expressive feeling, gives, as it were, the effect of colour- 
ing to the mental picture, and breathes life and reality into the 
whole. Reading, without " expression," is not only lifeless and in- 
effectual, but false, as regards truth of feeling, and the demands of 
the ear. 

Poetry inspires more vivid expression than prose. But even the 
latter has large demands on expressive utterance, in every passage 
which constitutes what can be termed good writing. " Expression" 
is at once the life and the effect of genuine emotion and appropriate 
reading. The want of this indispensable element, is the prevalent 
fault of school reading. 

The most efficacious remedy for this defect is the habit of reading 
with earnest attention, and a wakeful mind, which imbibes the spirit 
of what is read, and gives itself wholly up to the effect of the subject 
or the scene. It is only in this vivid state of sympathy that the voice 
becomes true and " expressive " in tone. 

The practice of analyzing pieces, with a view to detect and enu- 
merate their elements of " expression," in the manner above exempli- 
fied, is of the greatest service to facility and appropriateness in the 
management of the voice. Every turn in the current of feeling, 
every perceptible shading of thought, should be carefully observed 
and fully expressed, in every exercise. 

It is not merely in the successive sentences of. a piece or a para- 
graph, but, not unfrequently, in the clauses, and even the phrases, of 
a sentence, or, sometimes, on the very words of a phrase, that the 
" expression " of the voice must be varied, to give true utterance to 
the meaning or the emotion which the language of a passage is in- 
tended to impart. The analysis, therefore, which is to guide the 
management of the voice, must be close and exact 
3* 



30 IiNTRODUCTION TO THE 

EXERCISES IN "EXPRESSION." 
THE SERENADE. Mrs. J. H. Abbot. 

[An example of extremely soft tone and delicate " expression."] 

" Heard you that strain of music light, 
Borne gently on the breeze of night, — 
So soft and low as scarce to seem 
More than the magic of a dream ? 

Morpheus caught the liquid swell, — 
Its echo broke his drowsy spell. 

Hark ! now it rises sweetly clear, 
Prolonged upon the raptured ear ; — 
Sinking now, the quivering note 
Seems scarcely on the air to float ; 
It falls, — 'tis mute, — nor swells again ; — 
Oh ! what wert thou, melodious strain ? " 



TO A WHIP-POOR-WILL. Mrs. J. H. Abbot. 

s 

[An example of soft and pathetic " expression"] 

" I love thy strain, lone whip-poor-will, 

So mournful, and so low ; 
To me a tale it seems to tell 

Of sorrow and of woe. 

" Thrice hath it lured my spell-bound feet, 

By moonlight down the vale, 
Where thou hast found a still retreat, 

To breathe thy plaintive wail. 

" Why is thy note so sweetly sad ? 

And why prefer the hour 
When darkness hath the forest clad, 

Thy lonely lay to pour ? 

" Dost thou, as was believed of yore, 

Presage some mortal's doom, 
Who, — life's brief day of pleasure o'er, — 

Is destined to the tomb ? 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 31 

" Perchance her early fall you mourn 

Who listens to your song ; — 
Is mine the wailing dirge now borne 

On evening breeze along ? 

" Thy voice is mute. — Then be it so ; 

Though fate may cruel seem : — 
This spot shall mark my grave, and thou 

Shalt chant my requiem." 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. Burke. 

[Admiration and pathos.] 

" It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of 
France, then the Dauphiness, at Versailles ; and surely never lighted 
on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful 
vision. 

" I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the ele- 
vated sphere she just began to move in ; — glittering, like the morning 
star, full of life, and splendour, and joy. 

" Oh ! what a revolution ! and what a heart must I have, to contem- 
plate without emotion, that elevation and that fall ! 

" Little did I dream, when she added titles of veneration to those of 
enthusiastic, distant, respectful, love, that she should ever be obliged to 
carry the sharp antidote against disgrace, concealed in that bosom ; 
little did I dream that I should live to see such disasters fallen upon 
her in a nation of gallant men, — in a nation of men of honour and 
of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from 
their scabbards, to avenge even a look that threatened her with 
insult 



EVENING. Margaret Davidson. 

[Repose.] 

" 'Twas the song of the evening spirit ! — it stole, 
Like a stream of delight, o'er the listening soul : 
1 1 am coming, O Earth ! I am hasting away, 
With my star-spangled crown, and my mantle of gray ; 



32 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

I have come from my bower in the regions of light, 

To recline on the breast of my parent, Night ! 

To soften the gloom in her mournful eye, 

And guide her steps through the darkened sky ! 

I come to the earth in my mystic array ; 

Rest, rest from the toils and the cares of the day ! 

I will lull each discordant emotion to sleep, 

As I hush the wild waves of the turbulent deep, 

And my watch o'er the couch of their slumbers I keep. 

The streams murmur, " Peace," as I steal through the sky, 

And hushed are the winds, which swept fitfully by ; 

The bee nestles down on the breast of the rose, 

And the wild birds of summer are seeking repose.' " 



TO THE EVENING STAR. Margaret Davidson. 

[Serenity and pathos.] 

" No twinkling groups around thee throng, — 
Thy path majestic, lonely, bright, — 

A radiant softness shades thy form, 
First wanderer in the train of night ! 

"While gazing on thy glorious path, 
It seems as though some seraph's eye 

Looked with angelic sweetness down, 
And watched me from the glorious sky. 

" As the dim twilight steals around, 
And thou art trembling far above, 

I think of those no longer here, 
Dear objects of my earliest love. 

" Oh ! then shine on, thus pure and bright, 
Pour on each mourning soul thy balm ! 

Soothe the sad bosom's rankling grief, 
And fill it with thy heavenly calm ! " 



young ladies' reader. 33 



MORNING. Margaret Davidson. 

[Admiration.] 

" How calm, how beautiful a scene is this, — 

When Nature, waking from her silent sleep, 

Bursts forth in light, and harmony, and joy ! 

When earth, and sky, and air, are glowing all 

With gayety and life, and pensive shades 

Of morning loveliness are cast around ! 

The purple clouds, so streaked with crimson light, 

Bespeak the coming of majestic day ; — 

Mark how the crimson grows more crimson still, 

While, ever and anon, a golden beam 

Seems darting out its radiance ! 

Heralds of day ! where is that mighty form 

Which clothes you all in splendour, and around 

Your colourless, pale forms spreads the bright hues 

Of heaven ? — He cometh from his gorgeous couch, 

And gilds the bosom of the glowing east ! " 



THE SUMMER WIND. Bryant. 

[Animation and cheerfulness.] 

" The summer wind is come, 
Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs, 
And bearing on their fragrance ; and he brings 
Music of birds and rustling of young boughs, 
And sound of swaying branches, and the voice 
Of distant waterfalls. All the green herbs 
Are stirring in his breath ; a thousand flowers, 
By the roadside and the borders of the brook, 
Nod gayly to each other ; glossy leaves 
Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew 
Were on them yet ; and silver waters break 
Into small waves, and sparkle as he comes." 



34 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

ASPIRATIONS. Margaret Davidson. 

[Earnestness.] 

" Oh ! for a something more than this, 
To fill the void within my breast; — 

A sweet reality of bliss, 

A something bright, but unexpressed ! 

" My spirit longs for something higher 
Than life's dull stream can e'er supply ; — 

Something to feed this inward fire, 
This spark, which never more can die. 

" I'd hold companionship with all 
Of pure, of noble, or divine ; 

With glowing heart adoring fall, 
And kneel at nature's sylvan shrine. 

" My soul is like a broken lyre, 

Whose loudest, sweetest chord is gone ; 

A note, half trembling on the wire, — 
A heart that wants an echoing tone. 

" When shall I find this shadowy bliss, 
This shapeless phantom of the mind ? 

This something words can ne'er express, 
So vague, so faint, so undefined ? 

" Why are these restless, vain desires, 
Which always grasp at something more 

To feed the spirit's hidden fires, 

Which bum unseen, — unnoticed soar ? 

" Well might the heathen sage have known 
That earth must fail the soul to bind ; 

That life, and life's tame joys, alone, 
Could never chain the ethereal mind." 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. &5 



" RHYTHM." 

The word " rhythm " is used in elocution, as in music, to denote 
that measured flow of voice, which depends on regularly-recurring accent 
and pause. " Rhythm " is practically the gauge, or test, of regularity 
in the successive sounds and cessations of utterance. Thus, we 
observe that, in ordinary conversation on miscellaneous topics, the 
voice seems to ramble in its movement : our comparative indifference 
about the subject of our talk, lays no restraint, imposes no dignity, on 
utterance. But the serious and grave communication of sentiment, 
even in the colloquial style, is always marked by regularity in the suc- 
cession of utterance, and in reading, still more. 

All authors whose manner is characterized by regular rhetorical 
effect, have their style distinctly marked by a perceptible " rhythm " 
peculiar to each. 

True reading, whilst it never overdoes such effects to the ear, will 
always carefully preserve them. The ability to give them appropri- 
ately, depends on an analysis of the sound of sentences, clauses, and 
phrases, into their rhythmical portions. This analysis is performed 
by dividing sentences by "bars," as is done in the written forms 
of music. Every accent, accordingly, commences a new " bar.'''' The 
place of the accent, however, is, sometimes, occupied by a pause, cor- 
responding in effect to a musical "rest." 

The practice of analyzing passages, in this manner, and of regu- 
lating the voice by "beating time," at the commencement of each 
bar, as in music, is exceedingly important, as the only sure means of 
maintaining a regular and impressive strain of utterance. Imperfect 
reading is recognized, by no fault more readily, than the wandering, 
inexpressive voice which does not obey the law of " time " by true 
" rhythm." An excessive " rhythm " is a fault, whether in prose or in 
poetry. But a due degree of it, is one of those silent but most effect- 
ual charms, which distinguish a chaste and cultivated manner. 

Young readers should mark, for themselves, many passages from 
the miscellaneous exercises of this book, in the following manner. 

" Poor | tree ! " j ~| ~] | said the | Pine | ~] to the | Olive, | ~| " 1 1 
pity thee : j ~] **] | ^ thou | now | spreadest thy [ green | leaves, | ^| 
and ex- j ultest | ^ in | all the | pride | *] of | youth | ^] and | spring. 
| wj w| i wj wj i wj But how i goon i wj will thy i beauty | ~] be | tar- 
nished ! | ~1 ~] | ~] ~] | ~] The | fruit | ~| which thou ex- | haustest thy- 
| self to | bear, | ^] shall | hardly be | shaken | ^ from tliy | boughs, 
| ^ be- | fore thou shalt grow j dry | ^| and | witliered ; I *"| ^| | ^) thy | 
green | veins, | ^| ^| | now so | full of | juice, | ^ shall be | frozen: j 
^ ^ | Tl | naked and | bare, | ^ ~| | ~) thou wilt I stand ex- | posed 
to | all the | storms of | winter ; | ^ ^| | ^| whilst | my | firmer | leaf | 
^| shall re- | sist the | changes I ^ of the | seasons." 



V 

36 INTRODUCTION TO YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 

Metre. 

The exact, measured, and regular "rhythm" of verse, is termed 
metre. Its various forms are defined in books on grammar, under the 
head of prosody. To review these before practising the following 
exercises, or to trace them, as classified in the " American Elocution- 
ist," may be of service to some readers. 

Our present purpose, however, is to observe the effect of audible 
"rhythm" on different metres, as apparently, for the moment, at 
variance with that of prosodial " scanning," but really giving it its 
true effect. 

The just observance of the peculiar character of every form of 
metre, is one of the most agreeable effects of good reading : in noth- 
ing is a chaste and well-regulated ear so distinctly but so unobtru- 
sively manifested. The neglect of metrical " rhythm " defeats one of 
the great ends of poetry, which is to impart to language the charm 
of music. But nothing is more indicative of want of ear and of taste, 
than a mechanical and exaggerated " rhythm," which scans every line 
to the ear, and leaves no scope for the imagination. 

In marking the " rhythm " of verse, the same rule holds as in prose. 
Every accented syllable, or an equivalent pause, commences a bar. 

Examples of Metrical "Rhythm." 

IAMBIC METRE. 

| ~] " The | sea n is | mighty ; | ~| ~] | ~| but a | Mightier | T1 | 

sways | 
IT His | restless | billows. | ~) ~] H T I Thou > 1 1 whose I hands I *1 

have | scooped | 
IT His | boundless | gulfs, | ~) and | built his | shore, | ~| ~] | Thy | 

breath, \~\~\\ 
| ^ That | moved | ^| in the be- | ginning ^ | o'er his | face, | ^| ^ | 
| Moves | o'er it | ever- | more. | ~] ~] | ~] ~\ | ~) The o- | bedient | 

waves, | ^ ^| 
| ^ To its | strong | motion^ [roll, m H and | rise, I^H 

■nil ML" | Til Til 

ANAP.3ESTIC METRE. 

| ^ " Hast thou | sounded the | depth | ^ of | yonder | sea, | ^ ""] 
| ~| And | counted the | sands | ~] that | under it | be ? | T*| | ~H 
j ^] Hast thou | measured the | height | **\ of heaven a- | bove ? | 

Tim 

| Then | ~] mayst thou | speak H of a | mother's | love." | *n H "] | 



PIECES FOR PRACTICE. 



EXERCISE I. 



THE RAISING OF LAZARUS. Gospel of John. 

[Passages of Scripture, in the form of narrative, should be read with 
a clear, distinct, but moderate voice ; the vividness of expression 
being subdued by the tone of reverence.] 

Now a certain man was sick, named Lazarus, of Bethany, 
the town of Mary and her sister Martha. (It was that Mary 
which anointed the Lord with ointment, and wiped his feet 
with her hair, whose brother Lazarus w T as sick.) Therefore, 
his sisters sent unto him, saying, " Lord, behold, he whom 
thou lovest, is sick." 

When Jesus heard that, he said, " This sickness is not unto 
death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be 
glorified thereby." 

Now Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus. 
When he had heard, therefore, that he was sick, he abode two 
days still in the same place where he was. Then after that 
saith he to his disciples, " Let us go into Judea again." 

His disciples say unto him, " Master, the Jews of late 
sought to stone thee : and goest thou thither again ? " 

Jesus answered, " Are there not twelve hours in the day? 
If any man walk in the day, he stumbleth not, because he 
seeth the light of this world. But if a man walk in the night, 
he stumbleth, because there is no light in him." These things 
said he : and after that he saith unto them, " Our friend 
Lazarus sleepeth; but I go, that I may awake him out of 
sleep." 

Then said his disciples, " Lord, if he sleep, he shall do 
well." Howbeit, Jesus spake of his death : but they thought 
that he had spoken of taking of rest in sleep. 
4 



38 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Then said Jesus unto them plainly, "Lazarus is dead. 
And I am glad, for your sakes, that I was not there, to the 
intent ye may believe ; nevertheless, let us go unto him." 

Then said Thomas, which is called Didymus, unto his fel- 
low-disciples, " Let us also go, that we may die with him." 

Then when Jesus came, he found that he had lain in the 
grave four days already. 

Now Bethany was nigh unto Jerusalem, (about fifteen fur- 
longs off:) and many of the Jews came to Martha and Mary, 
to comfort them concerning their brother. 

Then Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming, 
went and met him : but Mary sat still in the house. 

Then said Martha unto Jesus, " Lord, if thou hadst been 
here, my brother had not died. But I know that even now, 
whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee." 

Jesus saith unto her, " Thy brother shall rise again." 

Martha saith unto him, " I know that he shall rise again in 
the resurrection at the last day." 

Jesus said unto her, " I am the resurrection, and the life : 
he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he 
live; and whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never 
die. Believest thou this?" 

She saith unto him, " Yea, Lord : I believe that thou art 
the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the 
world." 

And when she had so said, she went her way, and called 
Mary her sister secretly, saying, " The Master is come, and 
calleth for thee." As soon as she heard that, she arose 
quickly, and came unto him. 

Now Jesus was not yet come into the town, but was in that 
place where Martha met him. The Jews then, which were 
with her in the house, and comforted her, when they saw 
Mary, that she rose up hastily, and went out, followed her, 
saying, " She goeth unto the grave to weep there." 

Then when Mary was come where Jesus was, and saw him, 
she fell down at his feet, saying unto him, " Lord, if thou 
hadst been here, my brother had not died." 

When Jesus, therefore, saw her weeping, and the Jews also 
weeping which came with her, he groaned in the spirit, and 
was troubled, and said, "Where have ye laid him?" They 
say unto him, " Lord, come and see." Jesus wept. Then 
said the Jews, " Behold, how he loved him ! And some of 
them said, " Could not this man, which opened the eyes of the 
blind, have caused that even this man should not have died 1 ". 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 39 

Jesus, therefore, again groaning in himself, cometh to the 
grave. It was a cave ; and a stone lay upon it. 

Jesus said, " Take ye away the stone." Martha, the sister 
of him that was dead, saith unto him, " Lord, by this time, he 
hath been dead four days." 

Jesus saith unto her, " Said I not unto thee, that if thou 
wouldst believe, thou shouldst see the glory of God 1 M 

Then they took away the stone from the place where the 
dead was laid. And Jesus lifted up his eyes, and said, 
" Father, I thank thee that thou hast heard me; and I knew 
that thou nearest me always : but because of the people which 
stand by, I said it, that they may believe that thou hast sent me." 

And when he thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, 
" Lazarus, come forth." 

And he that was dead came forth, bound hand and foot 
with grave clothes; and his face was bound about with a 
napkin. 

Jesus saith unto them, " Loose him, and let him go." 



EXERCISE n. 

VILLAGERS' HYMN TO THE SCRIPTURES. Anon. 
[Serious poetry should be read sloivly, but without a " singing tone."] 

Lamp of our feet ! — whose hallowed beam 

Deep in our hearts its dwelling hath, 
How welcome is the cheering gleam 

Thou sheddest o'er our lowly path ! 
Light of our way ! — whose rays are flung 

In mercy o'er our pilgrim road, 
How blessed, * its dark shades among, 

The star that guides us to our God! 

Our fathers, in the days gone by, 
Read thee in dim and secret caves, 

Or in the deep wood, silently, 

Met where thick branches o'er them waved, 

* e, in the final syllable ed, when intended to be sounded, for the 
effect of metre, is marked as above. 



40 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

To seek the hope thy record gave, 
When thou wert a forbidden thing, 

And the strong chain and bloody grave 
Were all, on earth, thy love could bring 

Our fathers, in the days gone by, 

Read thee while peril o'er them hung ; 
But we, beneath the open sky, 

May search thy leaves of truth along ; 
Fearless, our daily haunts among, 

May chant the hallowed lays of old, 
Once by the shepherd minstrel sung, 

When Israel's hills o'erhung his fold. 

In the sweet morning's hour of prime, 

Thy blessed words our lips engage ; 
And round our hearths, at evening time, 

Our children spell the holy page, — 
The waymark through long distant years, 

To guide their wandering footsteps on, 
Till thy last, loveliest beam appears, 

Written on the gray churchyard stone. 

Word of the holy and the just ! — 

To leave thee pure our fathers bled ; 
Thou art to us a sacred trust, 

A relic of the martyr dead ! 
Among the valleys where they fell, 

The ashes of our fathers sleep: 
May we who round them safely dwell, 

Pure as themselves the record keep ! 

Lamp of our feet, which, day by day, 

Are passing to the quiet tomb, 
If on it fall thy peaceful ray, 

Our last low dwelling hath no gloom. 
How beautiful their calm repose 

To whom that blessed hope is given, 
Whose pilgrimage on earth is closed 

By the unfolding gates of heaven ! 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 41 



EXERCISE III. 

HOW TO READ THE BIBLE. J. Abbott. 

[Instructions and directions should be read with a firm voice, distinct 
articulation, and exact emphasis, but without formality.] 

It will do very little good merely to try to form vivid and 
clear conceptions of what is described when you are reading : 
you must make a particular effort to learn to do this. Now 
the next time you sit down to reading the Bible, turn, for in- 
stance, to the 5th chapter of the Gospel according to St. Luke, 
and picture to yourself, as vividly as possible, the scene de- 
scribed there. Do not think of a shore in general, but con- 
ceive of some particular shore. Give it shape and form. Let 
it be rocky or sandy, or high or low, bordered with woods, or 
with hills, or with meadows. Let it be something distinct. 
You may, if you please, conceive it to be a long, sandy beach, 
with a lofty bank and a verdant field behind ; or you may have 
it an open wood, sloping gradually down to the water's edge ; 
or a rocky, irregular coast, full of indentations ; or a deep and 
narrow bay, whose shores are overhung with willows. 

Let it assume either of these forms, or any other which 
your fancy may portray, and which may suit the circum- 
stances of the narrative ; only let it be something distinct, 
clear and distinct in all its parts ; so that if you had power to 
represent upon canvass, by painting, the conceptions of your 
mind, you might execute a perfect picture of the whole 
scene. 

To do this properly will require time and thought. You 
must be alone, or at least uninterrupted ; and your first effort 
will be a difficult one. The power of forming clear and vivid 
conceptions of this kind, varies greatly in different individuals. 
The faculty can, however, be cultivated and strengthened by 
exercise. 

Historical painters, that is, painters of historical scenes, are 
enabled to produce very great effects by the possession of this 
power. West, for example, formed, in his own mind, a clear, 
and vivid, and interesting conception of the scene which was 
exhibited, when the crowd of angry Jews rejected the Saviour, 
and called for his crucifixion. He painted this scene ; and the 
great picture which he has thus produced, has been gazed at, 
with intense interest, by many thousands. 
4* 



42 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

I saw this picture in the gallery of the Athenaeum, at Bos- 
ton. The gallery is a large and lofty apartment, lighted by 
windows above, and containing seats for hundreds. As I 
came up the stairs which lead into the room, and stepped from 
them upon the floor of the apartment, I found a large company 
assembled. 

The picture, which was, as I should suppose, ten or fifteen 
feet long, stood against one side of the apartment ; and before 
it, arranged upon the seats, were the assembled spectators, 
who were gazing, with intense interest, and almost in perfect 
silence, upon the scene. As we came forward before the 
canvass, we felt the same solemn impression which had 
silenced the others; and it was interesting and affecting to 
observe, as party after party came up the stairs, talking with 
usual freedom, that their voices gradually died away, and they 
stood silent and subdued, before the picture of the Saviour. 

Yes ; there stood the Saviour, in the middle of the picture, 
passive and resigned, and with a countenance whose expres- 
sion plainly said that his thoughts were far away. The 
Roman governor stood before his palace, endeavouring to 
persuade the mob to consent to their prisoner's release. The 
uncovered and hard-featured soldiery sat, at his feet, upon the 
cross which they had been carrying, and were holding, in 
their hands, the spikes with which the limbs of the innocent 
One, before them, were to be pierced. 

All the other attendant circumstances were most vividly 
and strikingly represented. The mob were there, with fury 
and rage and hate, in every variety, upon their countenances. 
Barabbas was there, with his look of hardened and unsubdued 
guilt ; — and the centurion's little daughter, whose life Jesus 
had saved, stood by her father, apparently entreating him to 
interpose his power, to rescue her preserver. 

Now, West must have possessed, in order to succeed in 
executing such a work, the power, first, of forming a clear 
mental conception of the scene, and secondly, of representing 
this scene by colours on the canvass. The former of these is 
the only one necessary for the object I have above described ; 
and you ought, while reading accounts of Scripture scenes, to 
form as vivid and distinct conceptions of the scenes described, 
as if you were actually intending to represent them by the 
pencil. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 43 



EXERCISE IV. 

THE MOSS ROSE. Anon. 

[Descriptions of delicate beauty, require, in reading, a softened and 
gentle tone.] 

The Angel of the flowers, one day, 

Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay, — 

That spirit to whose charge is given 

To bathe young buds in dew from heaven. 

Awakening from his slight repose, 

The Angel whispered to the Rose, 

" O fondest object of my care ! 

Still fairest found, where all is fair, 

For the sweet shade thou gavest me, 

Ask what thou wilt, — 'tis granted thee." 

Then said the Rose, with deepened glow, 

" On me another grace bestow." — 

The Angel paused in silent thought : — 

What grace was there the flower had not 1 — 

'Twas but a moment : — o'er the Rose 

A veil of moss the Angel throws ; 

And, robed in Nature's simplest weed, 

Could there a flower that Rose exceed? 



EXERCISE V. 

A CHEERFUL HEART. Margaret Davidson. 

[The reading of familiar letters, like the following, requires an easy 
and lively tone of voice.] 

A few days since, my dearest cousin, I received your affec- 
tionate letter ; and if my heart smote me, at the sight of the 
well-known superscription, you may imagine how unmerci- 
fully it thumped on reading a letter so full of affection, and so 
entirely devoid of reproach for my unkindly negligence. 

I can assure you, my dear coz., you could have no better 
way of striking home to my heart the conviction of my error ; 
and I resolved that hour, that moment, to lay my, confessions 
at your feet, and sue for forgiveness : I knew you were too 
gentle to refuse. 



44 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

But alas for human resolves! We were, that afternoon, ex- 
pecting brother M. Dear brother ! And how could I collect 
my floating thoughts, and curl myself up into a corner, with 
pen, ink, and paper before me, when my heart was flying 
away over the sand-hills of this unrom antic region, to meet 
and embrace and welcome home the wanderer 1 

If it can interest you, picture to yourself the little scene : 
mother and I breathless with expectation, gazing from the win- 
dow, in mute suspense, and listening to the "phiz, phiz," of 
the great steam-engine. Then, when we caught a rapid glance 
of his trim little figure, how we bounded away over chairs, 
sofas, and kittens, to bestow, in reality, the greeting fancy had 
so often given him. Oh ! what is so delightful as to welcome 
a friend ! 

Well, three days have passed like a dream ; and he is gone 
again. I am seated at my little table by the fire. Mother is 
sewing beside me. Puss is slumbering on the hearth ; and 
nothing external remains to convince us of the truth of that 
bright sunbeam which had suddenly broken in upon our quiet 
retreat, and departed like a vision as suddenly. 

When shall we have the pleasure of welcoming you thus, 
my beloved cousin ? Your flying call of last summer, was but 
an aggravation. Oh ! may all good angels watch over you 
and all you love, — shake the dew of health from their balmy 
wings upon your smiling home, and waft you hither, cheerful 
and happy, to sojourn awhile with the friends who love you so 
dearly ! 

All hail to Spring, the bright, the blooming, the renovating 
Spring ! Oh ! I am so happy, — I feel a lightness at my heart, 
and a vigour in my frame, that I have rarely felt. If I speak, 
my voice forms itself into a laugh. If I look forward, every 
thing seems bright before me. If I look back, memory calls 
up what is pleasant ; and my greatest desire is that my pen 
could fling a ray of sunshine over this scribbled page, and 
infuse into your heart some of the cheerfulness of my own. 

I have been confined to the house, all winter ; as it was 
thought the best and only way of restoring my health. Now 
my symptoms are all better ; and I am looking forward to next 
month and its blue skies, with the most childish impatience. 
By the way, I am not to be called a child any more ; for yes- 
terday I was fifteen : what say you to that? I feel quite like 
an old woman, and think of putting on cap and spectacles 
next month. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 45 



EXERCISE VI. 

THE SILK-WORM. Cowper. 

[Simple descriptions in verse, require an easy, lively voice, free from 
a chanting tone.] 

The beams of April, ere it goes, 
A worm, scarce visible, disclose, — 
All winter long content to dwell 
The tenant of his native shell. 
The same prolific season gives 
The sustenance by which he lives, — 
The mulberry leaf, a simple store, 
That serves him, — till he needs no more ! 
For, his dimensions once complete, 
Thenceforth none ever sees him eat; 
Though till his growing time be past, 
Scarce ever is he seen to fast. 
That hour arrived, his work begins : 
He spins and weaves, and weaves and spins; 
Till circle upon circle, wound 
Careless around him and around, 
Conceal him with a veil, though slight, 
Impervious to the keenest sight. 
Thus self-enclosed, as in a cask, 
At length he finishes his task; 
And, though a worm when he was lost, 
Or caterpillar at the most, 
When next we see him, wings he wears, 
And in papilio pomp appears ; 
Becomes oviparous; supplies 
With future worms and future flies 
The next ensuing year, — and dies ! 
Well were it for the world, if all 
Who creep about this earthly ball, — 
Though shorter-lived than most he be, — 
Were useful in their kind as he. 



46 INTRODUCTION TO THE 



EXERCISE VII. 

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF A VIOLET. Montgomery. 

[Lively narration, and description in imaginative style, require pecu- 
liar animation, and, sometimes, even playfulness of tone. A dulU 
fiat voice is intolerable in such passages.] 

At sunrise, on the eleventh of April, my eyelids were 
opened on the creation ; and in the same moment when [ first 
saw the light, I first breathed the air, fresh, cool, and fragrant, 
amidst a thick group of sister-violets, " stealing and giving 
odours," as the breeze of morning swept the dew-drops from 
our leaves. Heretofore, I had only felt the warmth of the sun, 
and the pleasantness of the breeze, cherishing and expanding 
my buds : — now the light of heaven seemed to dart not only 
into my eye, but through my veins, down into my very root ; 
and the spirit of the wind was like a living soul within me. 

If I do not remember the moment of my birth, this moment 
I should never forget, were I to live to the age of the oak. 
Amidst the innumerable objects, all beautiful and new, above 
and around, — the birds flitting through the air, the insects 
creeping among the herbage, the flowers of many hues, that 
blossomed on my native bank, mine ancient gossip, the spire 
of dry grass with two withered blades hanging down, and high 
over all, the patriarchal oak, towering, and, as it appeared to 
me, touching the sky, — nothing caught my attention longer 
than while I cast a glance across it. 

As soon as I had looked thus hastily about me, I fixed my 
eye on the sun, coming forth from his golden palace. As he 
rose in the firmament, my petals spread wide to receive his 
ray, and my breath grew sweeter ; while I sighed in the de- 
light of beholding him all day long, with the occasional inter- 
vention of a cloud, and the floating shadows of taller plants 
around, that alternately crossed and cleared my sight. I traced 
the splendid luminary in his course to the meridian, and down- 
ward, through a crimson-coloured sky, till, behind the old oak, 
he vanished from me. I felt my lively spirits sinking as he 
declined. When he was gone, vision began to fade : the 
objects near me lost their colour, then their form. I was 
alarmed : I thought that my primitive blindness was returning. 
The air grew chill ; I bowed upon my bed ; and, oppressed 
with indescribable dejection, I fell into a deep slumber. 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 47 

I did not awake out of this second sleep till the sun had 
given his own colour and lustre to the morning clouds ; but the 
dew, into which an early hoar-frost had resolved itself, lay 
white upon the ground ; and there was a globule, as big as a 
lady's tear, in my eye, that entirely filled it. 

At half past nine o'clock, in the forenoon, a butterfly, the 
first that I had seen, — indeed, the first of the season, — came 
fluttering over us. Our chat was immediately suspended ; and 
every eye followed the brilliant stranger, while he sported to 
and fro, displaying his elegant form and gay apparel in every 
attitude ; hovering here, descending there, alighting nowhere. 

We violets breathed our sighs of sweetness to allure him : 
the daisies, — poor things, how I pitied them ! — blushed to 
the tips of their petals ; for it was plain that he despised 
them : the primroses shivered with spleen ; for they were in 
the shade, and he never went near them : the butter-cups 
blazed out in golden splendour ; and they seemed his favourites ; 
for now he dipped towards one, then towards another of them, 
till, — to the chagrin and astonishment of all, — he at length 
settled on a glaring yellow dandelion, the vulgarest flower on 
the bank, — with which not one of us would even exchange a 
word ; and there he sat in the sun ; opening and shutting his 
burnished wings, with ineffable self-complacency ; for it was 
soon evident that the coxcomb chose the gaudy weed, not for 
the love of it, but because its broad disk afforded him a con- 
venient resting-place, on which he could expand his gold and 
purple finery to the admiration, as he thought, of all that 
beheld him. 

We were so provoked, that we tried to look any way and 
every way, rather than at him ; and yet we caught our eyes 
continually turning, as it were by instinct, again to him ; for 
really he was a very pretty fellow, and would have been a 
thousand times more so if he had not known it. At last, he 
whisked away. 



EXERCISE VIII. 

THE SAME SUBJECT, CONCLUDED. ibid. 

We were very silent and pouting, for nearly an hour, when 
a bee came humming along the lane ; and soon as he had 
wheeled around the corner of the old oak-tree, darted upon 
one of us, — it was I. 



48 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

When I had a little recovered from the confusion occa- 
sioned by this rencontre, I perceived that my neighbours were 
all sneering at me, and sneering so enviously that I soon 
found, — instead of being angry at the honest bee for rifling 
my honey, I ought to have thanked him for his condescension 
in taking it by storm ; and it was evident, to me at least, from 
his preference and their jealousy, that I was the sweetest and 
handsomest flower of the party. 

This notion so delighted my vanity, that I became quite 
giddy, and eyed my companions, whom nature had made less 
attractive than myself, with a kind of compassionate contempt. 
— Down from a branch of the oak, that moment, fell a great 
sprawling spider, full on my bosom, where he lay wriggling 
on his back, five seconds, I am sure, — an age of misery to 
me! — before he could gather his legs together, and throw 
himself, rolled up like a ball, on one of my lowest leaves, 
where he remained, — to my unutterable annoyance, — con- 
sidering how he should farther dispose of himself. The 
flowers, which had been hitherto stifling their spleen against 
me, or muttering it in low whispers, now tittered aloud at this 
ridiculous mischance, while I was so paralyzed that I could 
not even cry out for help. 

At this crisis, the clouds, which had long been lowering, 
broke suddenly, and poured down rain in torrents on our 
heads. The mole, neither liking the air nor the water from 
above, burrowed his way back again into his subterranean 
abode, without doing any harm, except humbling the pride of 
the dandelion, for which we were all very much obliged 
to him. 

It was only an April storm. Towards evening, the sun 
broke through the gloom, and spread a beautiful rainbow from 
one end of heaven to the other, as it appeared to me. The 
blue sky cleared ; the earth glowed with verdure ; every leaf 
and sprig of plant and flower, glittered with diamonds of the 
first water. All nature looked smiling and joyous. The 
gnats, by myriads, were dancing in circular clouds over our 
heads, repeatedly assembling, though as often dispersed by the 
swallows, that darted to and fro, in the open space between 
the hedges of the lane, and sometimes skimmed athwart our 
bank, bending our heads with their delicate breasts, or striking 
the dew-drops out of our bells, with sudden touches of the 
tips of their wings. A black-bird, perched on the old oak, 
chanted, in his loudest notes, a simple tale, about a few sticks 
and straws in a neighbouring wood, which he and his true-love 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 49 

had gathered in the rambles of their courtship, and woven 
into what they called a nest, where five chirpers had been dis- 
closed from the shells, that very morning. This had awak- 
ened, for the first time since he himself was hatched, all the 
rapturous tenderness of a parent in his heart ; from the fulness 
of which he poured forth such a song as made me wish that I 
had been born " with such a pair of wings" as his, " and such 
a head between 'em ; " for that little home was all the world 
to him ; — ay, and he had a right to be happy in his own 
way, and to tell every body of his happiness, though none be- 
sides himself cared a straw about either his nest, his mate, or 
his young ones. 

Meanwhile, the firmament above rang with the carolling of 
larks ; the thrushes answered each other from tree to tree ; 
and in the hedges, linnets, chaffinches, and wrens were play- 
ing, on their small pipes, as many tunes as there were min- 
strels among them ; yet forming one harmonious concert. 
Above all, the cuckoo, continually changing his place, but 
never changing his note, made glad the ear that hearkened to 
him, while the eye in vain sought him out. All was peace 
and concord around ; and we flowers, forgetting our little 
enmities and rivalships, enjoyed the breeze that mingled our 
sweets, and wafted them as incense to heaven. 



EXERCISE IX. 

LITTLE CHILDREN. Mary Howitt. 

[Pieces such as this require a lively, but smooth and tender tone, - 
free from the fault styled " singing."] 

Sporting through the forest wide; 
Playing by the water-side; 
Wandering o'er the heathy fells ; 
Down within the woodland dells; 
All among the mountains wild, 
Dwelleth many a little child ! 
In the baron's hall of pride; 
By the poor man's dull fireside; 
'Mid the mighty, 'mid the mean, 
Little children may be seen, 



50 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Like the flowers that spring up fair, 
Bright and countless, everywhere ! 

In the fair isles of the main ; 
In the desert's lone domain; 
In the savage mountain glen, 
'Mong the tribes of swarthy men; 
Wheresoe'er a foot hath gone; 
Wheresoe'er the sun hath shone 
On a league of peopled ground, 
Little children may be found ! — 
Blessings on them ! they in me 
Move a kindly sympathy 
With their wishes, hopes, and fears, 
With their laughter and their tears; 
With their wonder so intense, 
And their small experience ! 

Little children, not alone 
On the wide earth are ye known : 
'Mid its labours and its cares, 
'Mid its sufferings and its snares, — 
Free from sorrow, free from strife, 
In the world of love and life, 
Where no sinful thing hath trod; 
In the presence of your God, 
Spotless, blameless, glorified, 
Little children, ye abide I 



EXERCISE X. 

THE SAMARITAN EXILES. Anon. 

[A quiet and softened style of voice, should prevail in the reading of 
this piece of simple and affecting narrative. But the tone should 
be free from feebleness and " song. 11 ] 

During the reign of the wicked King Ahab, on a serene 
and lovely evening, after the sun had just set, an old man, an 
Ephraimite, whose name was Elnathan, having returned from 
his labour in the fields, came out to the door of a house which 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 51 

stood on the west side of the hill of Samaria, and began to 
employ himself in plaiting a basket with the leaves of the 
palm-tree. 

The dress and appearance of this old man, were peculiarly 
simple and interesting. Over a shirt of wool he wore a close- 
bodied frock, tunic, or " coat," as it is named in the New 
Testament ; having sleeves, and reaching down to his feet. 
It was made of coloured linen ; and round the border of it was 
the woollen fringe and riband of blue, enjoined by the law, 
that he might look upon them, and remember all the command- 
ments of Jehovah, to do them. On his feet he had sandals, or 
soles of strong leather, which were bound on with latchets ; 
but his legs were bare, their only defence from the weather 
being the long, loose garments which he wore. On his head, 
which was now bald with age, he wore no covering, but only a 
narrow fillet bound round his temples, to keep his hair from 
being troublesome ; and his few remaining locks, and his long 
beard, were white as the blossom of the almond-tree. 

Whilst this old man sat employed, as we have said, the last 
rays of the closing day, which fell upon his venerable head, 
served to show a countenance which had once been manly and 
handsome, but which was now pale and wrinkled, yet full of 
sweetness and intelligence. Though his hands were busily 
employed, it seemed as if his mind was otherwise engaged ; 
for, from time to time, a tear stole over his white beard, and, 
once or twice, he appeared to smile : but there was something 
about that smile so resigned and so subdued, — it told such a 
tale of ruined hopes, and of abiding sorrows, — that an observer 
might have wished rather to see an ordinary man weep, than 
this old man smile. It appeared that there was no person in 
the house before which he sat ; and he frequently looked south- 
ward, as if he expected the approach of some one. 

At length, he saw his granddaughter, a young maiden, com- 
ing by a path which wound up the side of the hill, bearing an 
earthen pitcher of water upon her shoulder. Her face and 
arms were embrowned by exposure to the sun ; but her eyes 
were as soft and brilliant as those of the antelope, and her step 
as light and free as the foot of the same creature upon the 
mountains ; so that it was impossible to look upon her, as she 
came along, singing in the gayety of her heart, without feeling 
interested and delighted with her presence. 

She seemed to be the very light of the old man's eyes ; for, 
no sooner did he see her coming, than he brushed away the 
tears that were ready to fall, and tried to receive her with a 



52 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

cheerful and pleasant smile. But she saw that he had been 
sorrowful ; and, putting her pitcher on the ground, she came 
and sat down beside him, and tried to amuse him by telling 
him what she had heard the other maidens saying at the foun- 
tain. Yet, in spite of herself, her heart became very heavy 
and oppressed; and she said, with a tremulous and anxious 
voice, — " Surely, grandfather, our perils are all past now, and 
our enemies will cease to persecute us any more. Since they 
have already taken from us all that we had, they will, at least, 
suffer us to live as servants with our kinsman, without casting 
us into new woes ; for they know that he is the only friend 
that is now left to us. 55 

She had scarcely ended, when they saw coming towards 
them their kinsman, Ocran, who was the owner of the house 
before which they sat; and he was accompanied by three 
young men, who were his sons. 

When the old man rose up and saluted them, saying, 
" Peace be unto you," they answered not his salutation ; but 
Ocran, with a rough and scornful voice, told him that he 
and his sons had that day offered sacrifices upon the altar of 
Baal, and had chosen him for their god, and received his name 
and image on their right hands. Then raising his voice still 
louder, he added, — " I tell thee, Elnathan, thou shalt no more 
go up to Jerusalem to worship, nor make an offering there ; 
and if thou art not content, depart from my house, and see 
who, in Samaria, dare receive thee. 

" Thou hast heard my purpose. If thou choosest to cease 
from going up to Jerusalem to worship, and to make mention 
of the name of thy God, thou and thy daughter may dwell 
with us ; for thou art our kinsman ; — but not otherwise." 

When Elnathan heard these impious and cruel words, he 
was filled with astonishment and grief. 

At length, he said, in a voice faltering with emotion, — 
" Since it is so that ye will not permit me to obey the com- 
mandment of my God, in going up to his temple to worship, 
I may no longer remain with you. My heart hath regarded, 
with too fond an affection, the dwellings of my fathers ; for I 
still hoped that there would arise in Israel a king who should 
bring back this people from their miserable idolatries to the 
holy worship of the only God, and so unite the tribes of Jacob 
into one kingdom again. But it hath not been so. Though I 
leave behind me the remains of all that I have loved, yet I will 
go forth from mine own people ; for the sweetest charm which 
united me to them is, broken, seeing they have forsaken the 
Lord their God." 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 53 

Helah, all this while, stood holding her grandfather by the 
arm, as if she were afraid that any one should separate him 
from her, and weeping with grief and perplexity ; for her 
gentle heart was wrung by the cruelty of her kinsman. 

That night, when she lay down, as she was wont, at the feet 
of her grandfather, she could not sleep, but spent the night in 
tears for the new load of affliction that had fallen upon him, 
and her own feebleness to help him. 



EXERCISE XI. 

THE SAME SUBJECT, CONCLUDED. Ibid. 

Next morning Helah and Elnathan arose before the dawn ; 
and shutting up her grief in her heart, she wiped away her 
tears, and essayed to comfort him with the thought that, 
wherever they were driven, in all their journey ings they should 
still have the God of Israel for their friend. So they resolved 
to go up together to Jerusalem, and wait there till some good 
Israelite, who feared the Lord, should take them for hired ser- 
vants, and permit them to wait upon their God in the assem- 
blies of his people, in that sanctuary he had chosen to put his 
name in. So after they had, in a simple yet fervent prayer, 
committed themselves to the care of their heavenly Father, 
they needed little other preparation for their journey. 

After girding himself, Elnathan put some dried figs, a little 
meal, and a small leathern bottle of water into his scrip, or 
bag, which was made of goatskin, and hung by a belt across 
his shoulder. Then taking Helah by the hand, who had put 
on an upper garment similar to his, but finer and more taste- 
fully arranged, he went forth from the house of his kinsmen ; 
and they, because they felt his righteous and upright conduct 
as a reproach cast upon themselves, hardened their hearts 
against him, and suffered him to depart with his granddaughter, 
destitute and unfriended, to the inheritance of another tribe. 

As they descended the hill of Samaria, with slow steps and 
in silence, to begin their journey, the light, fleecy clouds, 
spread along the morning sky, were fast disappearing before 
the rising sun ; and the plentiful dew that had fallen during 
the night, and hung, in large drops, from every bough, was 
quickly passing away. The heat of the advancing season had 
5* 



54 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

* 
not yet wholly dried up the verdure ; and the fresh morning 
breeze was filled with the odorous smell of the citron, and the 
myrtle, and the palm-tree, and the olive, and innumerable 
flowers. The fig-tree put forth his green figs, and the vines, 
with the tender grape, gave a goodly smell. Barley-harvest, 
too, having already begun, it was a time of gladness over all 
the land. They met various little bands of reapers going to 
their labour, followed by young maidens and children to glean 
after them. The men had put off their upper garments, and 
left them behind in their houses ; and each carried some pro- 
visions along with him, and a leathern bottle or dried gourd 
filled with water. Some of these men, as was once usual with 
them in their purer days, expressed the joy of the time, not 
unmixed with piety, as they made to the old man and his 
granddaughter this salutation : " We bless you in the name 
of the Lord ; " — to which he replied, as was the custom, — 
" The blessing of the Lord be upon you ! " 

When they had passed by the suburbs of Samaria, they 
came to a cottage imbosomed amid some aged fig-trees, and 
surrounded by several little fields ; this was the inheritance 
which had been wrested from Elnathan by the unjust judg- 
ment of Ahab, because he had been known to go up to Jeru- 
salem to worship ; and it was now possessed by an idolater 
who was his enemy. As the faithful old man stood by it, he 
was deeply moved ; not because of the wealth of which he had 
been so cruelly deprived, but because he was now forced to 
leave, perhaps forever, that place, the memory of which was 
so dear to him. 

While he remained lingering beside it, marking the various 
objects, which were to him monuments of enjoyment he could 
never taste again, he said mournfully to his granddaughter, — 
" How often have I heard, from the door of that house, and 
from these fields, the glad voices of my children welcoming 
my approach ! In that green bower we offered up our evening 
prayers ; under these fig-trees we assembled on the Sabbath, 
while I related to my sons the gracious things which God had 
done for our fathers in the time of old, and the holy laws 
which he had ordained us ; — with them, by this clear-running 
spring, how often, with joyful hearts, have we spread our re- 
past in the days of harvest ! " 

And as these sad remembrances passed through his mind, 
he could not refrain from weeping; and Helah, though she 
had no remembrance of the place, having left it with her own 
father when an infant ; and though she had in herself a hidden 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 55 

cause of grief, which absorbed almost every other, could not 
keep from shedding tears of sympathy with him. 

And, as they wept, Elnathan lifted up his hands towards 
Jerusalem, and prayed ; saying, " Let our hearts be strong in 
the unchanging love of the God of Israel. He will be more 
to us than home or kindred ; for true and good is his word for- 
ever. The everlasting God, the Rock of Jacob, is our shield 
and our salvation for evermore." And when he had breathed 
forth this short and fervent prayer, in which Helah joined with 
her whole heart, they found that blessed relief from sorrow, 
which faith in God alone can bring ; and a tide of happy feel- 
ings, and bright prospects pointing heavenward, flowed upon 
their minds ; so that they went on their way with serener coun- 
tenances, and a lighter step than they had done before. 



EXERCISE XII. 

THE ADVENTURE OF A STAR. Montgomery. 

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. 

[An example of easy and lively tone, in the reading of verse.] 

A star would be a flower ; — 

So down from heaven it came, 
And in a honeysuckle bower 

Lit up its little flame. 
There, on a bank, beneath the shade 
By sprays, and leaves, and blossoms made, 
It overlooked the garden-ground, — 
A landscape stretching ten yards round; 
Oh ! what a change of place 
From gazing through eternity of space ! 

Gay plants, on every side 

Unclosed their lovely blooms, 
And scattered far and wide 

Their ravishing perfumes : 

The butterfly, the bee, 
And many an insect on the wing, 
Full of the spirit of the spring, 

Flew round and round in endless glee, 



56 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Alighting here, ascending there, 
Ranging and revelling everywhere. 

Now all the flowers were up, and dressed 
In robes of rainbow-coloured light : 

The pale primroses looked their best ; 
Peonies blushed with all their might; 

Dutch tulips from their beds 

Flaunted their stately heads; 

Auriculas, like belles and beaux, 

Glittering with birthnight splendour, rose ; 

And polyanthuses displayed 

The brilliance of their gold brocade : 

Here hyacinths of heavenly blue 

Shook their rich tresses to the morn; 

While rose-buds scarcely showed their hue, 
But coyly lingered on the thorn, 

Till their loved nightingale, who tarried long, 

Should wake them into beauty with his song. 

The violets were past their prime, 
Yet their departing breath 
Was sweeter, in the blast of death, 

Than all the lavish fragrance of the time. 

Amidst this gorgeous train, 
Our truant star shone forth in vain ; 
Though in a wreath of periwinkle, 
Through whose fine gloom it strove to twinkle, 
It seemed no bigger to the view 
Than the light-spangle in a drop of dew. — 
Where all was jollity around, 
No fellowship the stranger found. 
Those lowliest children of the earth, 

That never leave their mother's lap, 
Companions in their harmless mirth, 
Were smiling, blushing, dancing there, 
Feasting on dew, and light, and air ; 

And fearing no mishap, 
Save from the hand of lady fair, 

Who, on her wonted walk, 
Plucked one and then another, — 
A sister or a brother, — 

From its elastic stalk ; 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 57 

Happy, no doubt, for one sharp pang, to die 
On her sweet bosom, withering in her eye. 

Thus, all day long, that star's hard lot, 

While bliss and beauty ran to waste, 
Was but to witness on the spot 

Beauty and bliss it could not taste. 
At length, the sun went down ; and then 
Its faded glory came again ; 
With brighter, bolder, purer light, 
It kindled through the deepening night, 
Till the green bower, so dim by day, 

Glowed like a fairy-palace with its beams ; — 
In vain, for sleep on all the borders lay ; 

The flowers were laughing in the land of dreams. 

Our star, in melancholy state, 

Still sighed to find itself alone, 
Neglected, cold, and desolate, 

Unknowing and unknown. 
Lifting, at last, an anxious eye, 
It saw that circlet empty in the sky, 
Where it was w T ont to roll, 
Within a hair-breadth of the pole : 
In that same instant, sore amazed, 
On the strange blank all Nature gazed; 
Travellers, bewildered for their guide, 

In glens and forests lost their way ; 
And ships, on ocean's trackless tide, 

Went fearfully astray. 

The star, now wiser for its folly, knew 

Its duty, dignity, and bliss at home ; 
So up to heaven again it flew, 

Resolved no more to roam. 

One hint the humble bard may send 

To her for whom these lines are penned : — 

Oh ! may it be enough for her 

To shine in her own character ! 

Oh ! may she be content to grace, 

On earth, in heaven, her proper place ! 



58 INTRODUCTION TO THE 



EXERCISE XIII. 

MILLY, THE DAUGHTER OF THE CREEK CHIEFTAIN. 

Anon. 

[Biographical narratives should be read with a clear, distinct, but 
moderate utterance, — lively, but not so familiar as the style of 
mere anecdote ; serious, but not so grave as that of history.] 

It appears, from a communication of the Secretary of 
War, as well as from the published and accredited history of 
the period, that in 1818, during the Indian war in the south, 
Milly saved the life of an American citizen, who had been 
taken prisoner by several warriors of her tribe, and who was 
about to be put to death by them, when he was rescued by her 
energetic and humane interposition. The act of this Indian 
girl revives the recollection of an event in our colonial annals, 
— the rescue of Captain Smith by the daughter of Powhattan, 
the celebrated Pocahontas. 

Milly is the daughter of the Prophet Francis, a distin- 
guished Creek chief, who acquired a melancholy celebrity 
from his execution by order of General Jackson, during the 
Indian war of 1817 — 18. At the time she performed the 
action which is so ennobling to her character, she was under 
sixteen years of age ; her nation was at war with the United 
States ; and her father was one of the most decided and inde- 
fatigable enemies of the white people, — circumstances all of 
which exhibit her conduct in a more striking point of view. 

At the time the prisoner was brought in by his captors, 
Milly and an elder sister were playing on the bank of the 
Apalachicola River, in the vicinity of the Indian camp, when 
they were startled, in the midst of their sports, by the peculiar 
war-cry which announced that a prisoner had been taken. 
They immediately went in the direction of the cry, and, on 
arriving at the place, found a young white man, stripped 
naked, bound to a tree, and the captors preparing to put him 
to death. 

On observing this, Milly instantly went to her father, who, 
as before stated, was the Prophet Francis, and a principal 
chief of the nation, and besought him to save the prisoner's 
life. This he declined, saying, at the same time, that he had 
no power to do so. She then turned to his captors, and 
begged them to spare the life of the white man ; but one of 



YOUNG LADIES' READER 59 

them, who had lost two sisters in the war, refused to listen to 
her supplications in behalf of the prisoner ; declaring that his 
life should ^atone for the wrongs which he had received at the 
hands of the white people. 

The active humanity of Milly would not be discouraged. 
She reasoned and entreated, telling the vindictive savage who 
was bent on the destruction of the prisoner, that his death 
would not restore his sisters to life. After a long time spent 
in her generous effort, she succeeded in rescuing the prisoner 
from the dreadful death to which he had been doomed by his 
cruel captors. The condition on which his life was finally 
spared, was, that he would shave his head after the Indian 
fashion, and adopt their dress and manner of living. To this 
he joyfully assented. 

Some time afterwards, the white man sought his benefac- 
tress in marriage ; but she declined, and subsequently married 
one of her own people. — Her husband is now dead. Her 
father was put to death, as was mentioned before ; and her 
mother and sister have since died. She is now friendless and 
poor, residing amongst her people, in their new country, near 
the mouth of Verdigris River. She has three children, a boy 
and two girls, — all too young to provide for themselves, and 
consequently dependent upon their mother for support. Under 
these circumstances, the Secretary of War recommended that 
a pension be allowed her during the remainder of her life. 



EXERCISE XIV. 

THE SKY-LARK. Hogg. 

[An example of the tone of joy and gladness, — requiring the full 
voice of happy and delighted emotion.] 

Bird of the wilderness, 

Blithesome and cumberless, 
Sweet is thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! 

Emblem of happiness, 

Blest is thy dwelling-place : — 
Oh ! to abide in the desert with thee ! 

Wild is thy lay, and loud, 

Far in the downy cloud, 



60 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. 
Where, on the dewy wing, 
Where art thou journeying? 

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. 
O'er fell and fountain sheen, 
O'er moor and mountain green, 

O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, 
Over the cloudlet dim, 
Over the rainbow's rim, 

Musical cherub, soar, singing away ! 

Then, when the gloaming comes, 
Low in the heather blooms 

Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! 
Emblem of happiness, 
Blest is thy dwelling-place : — 

Oh! to abide in the desert with thee! 



EXERCISE XV. 

THE GOOD DAUGHTER. Miss Miiford. 

[This piece requires attention to the changes of voice, which express 
the changes from one feeling to another, as the description passes 
from serious to joyful style, or the reverse.] 

A sudden turn round a magnificent beech-tree, brings us 
to a rude gate, where we look over an open space of about ten 
acres of ground, still more varied and broken than that which 
we have passed, and surrounded on all sides by thick wood- 
land. The ruddy glow of the heath flower, contrasting, on 
the one hand, with the golden-blossomed furze, — on the other, 
with a patch of buckwheat, of which the bloom is not past, 
although the grain be ripening, — the beautiful buckwheat, 
whose transparent leaves and stalks are so brightly tinged with 
vermilion, while the delicate pink-white of the flower has a 
feathery fall, at once so rich and graceful, and a fresh and re- 
viving odour, like that of the birch-trees in the dew of a May 
evening. 

The bank that surmounts this attempt at cultivation, is 
crowned with the late foxglove and the stately mullein ; the 
pasture of which so great a part of the waste consists, looks as 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 61 

green as an emerald ; a clear pond, with the bright sky reflect- 
ed in it, lets light into the picture; and the vine-covered 
dwelling of Hannah Bint, rises from amidst the pretty garden, 
which lies bathed in the sunshine around it. 

My friend, Hannah Bint, is by no means an ordinary per- 
son. Her father, Jack Bint, (for in all the course of his life 
he never arrived at the dignity of being called John, — indeed, 
in our parts he was commonly known by the cognomen of 
London Jack,) was a drover of high repute in his profession. 
No man between Salisbury Plain and Smithfield, was taught to 
conduct a flock of sheep so skilfully through all the difficulties 
of lanes and commons, streets and high roads, as Jack Bint, 
aided by Jack Bint's famous dog Watch ; for Watch's rough, 
honest face, was as well known at fairs and markets, as his 
master's equally honest and weather-beaten visage. Lucky 
was the dealer that could secure their services ; Watch being 
renowned for keeping a flock together better than any shep- 
herd's dog on the road, — Jack, for delivering them more 
punctually, and in better condition. No man had a more 
thorough knowledge of the proper night stations, where good 
feed might be procured for his charge, and good liquor for 
Watch and himself; Watch, like other sheep dogs, being ac- 
customed to live chiefly on bread and beer. His master, 
although not averse to a good pot of double ale, preferred gin ; 
and they who plod slowly along, through wet and weary ways, 
in frost and in fog, have, undoubtedly, a stronger temptation 
to indulge in that stimulus, than we water-drinkers, sitting in 
warm and comfortable rooms, can readily imagine. For certain, 
our drover could never resist the seduction of the gin bottle ; 
and being of a free, merry, jovial temperament, one of those 
persons commonly called " good fellows," who like to see 
others happy in the same way with themselves, he was apt to 
circulate it at his own expense, to the great improvement of 
his popularity, and the great detriment of his finances. 

All this did vastly well, whilst his earnings continued pro- 
portionate to his spendings, and the little family at home were 
comfortably supported by his own industry ; but when a rheu- 
matic fever came on, one hard winter, and finally settled in 
his limbs, reducing the most active and hardy man in the 
parish to the state of a confirmed cripple, then his reckless 
improvidence stared him in the face ; and poor Jack, — a 
thoughtless, but kind creature, and a most affectionate father, — 
looked at his three motherless children, with the acute misery 
of a parent, who has brought those whom he loved best in the 
6 



62 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

world, to abject destitution. He found help, where he prob- 
ably least expected it, in the sense and spirit of his young 
daughter, a girl of twelve years old. 

Hannah was the eldest of the family, and had, ever since 
her mother's death, which event had occurred two or three 
years before, been accustomed to take the direction of their 
domestic concerns, to manage her two brothers, to feed the 
pigs and the poultry, and to keep house during the almost con- 
stant absence of her father. She was a quick, clever lass, of 
a high spirit, a firm temper, some pride, and a horror of 
accepting charity. 

Our little damsel possessed this last quality in perfection ; and 
when her father talked of giving up their comfortable cottage, 
and removing to the workhouse, whilst she and her brothers 
must go to service, Hannah formed a bold resolution, and 
without disturbing the sick man by any participation of her 
hopes and fears, proceeded, after settling their trifling affairs, to 
act, at once, on her own plans and designs. 



EXERCISE XVI. 
THE SAME SUBJECT, CONCLUDED. Ibid. 

Careless of the future, as the poor drover had seemed, he 
had yet kept clear of debt, and by subscribing constantly to a 
benefit club, had secured a pittance that might at least assist 
in supporting him during the long years of sickness and help- 
lessness, to which he was doomed to look forward. This his 
daughter knew. She knew, also, that the employer in whose 
service his health had suffered so severely, was a rich and lib- 
eral cattle-dealer in the neighbourhood, who would willingly 
aid an old and faithful servant, and had, indeed, come forward 
with offers of money. 

To assistance from such a quarter, Hannah saw no objec- 
tion. Of him, accordingly, she asked, not money, but some- 
thing much more in his own way, — " a cow ! any cow ! old 
or lame, or what not, so that it were a cow ! she would be 
bound to keep it well ; if she did not, he might take it back 
again. She even hoped to pay for it, by and by, by instal- 
ments ; but that she would not promise ! " — and, partly 
amused, partly interested by the child's earnestness, the 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 63 

wealthy yeoman gave her, not as a purchase, but as a present, 
a very fine young cow. 

She then went to the lord of the manor, and, with equal 
knowledge of character, begged his permission to keep her 
cow on the common. " Farmer Oakley had given her a fine 
cow ; and she would be bound to pay the rent, and keep her 
father off the parish, if he would only let it graze on the 
waste ; " and he, too, half from real good-nature, — half not 
to be outdone in liberality by his tenant, not only granted the 
requested permission, but reduced the rent so much, that the 
produce of the vine seldom fails to satisfy their kind landlord. 

Never was so cleanly a little milk-maid as Hannah. She 
changed away some of the cottage finery, which, in his pros- 
perous days, poor Jack had pleased himself with bringing 
home, the china tea-service, the gilded mugs, and the painted 
w r aiters, for the more useful utensils of the dairy, and speedily 
established a regular and gainful trade in milk, eggs, butter, 
poultry ; — for poultry they had always kept. 

Her domestic management prospered equally. Her father, 
who retained the perfect use of his hands, began a manu- 
facture of mats and baskets, which he constructed with great 
nicety and adroitness : the eldest boy, a sharp and clever lad, 
cut for him his rushes and osiers ; erected, under his sister's 
direction, a shed for the cow, and enlarged and cultivated the 
garden, (always with the good leave of her kind patron, the 
lord of the manor,) until it became so ample, that the produce 
not only kept the pig, and half kept the family, but afforded 
another branch of merchandise to the indefatigable directress 
of the establishment. 

For the younger boy, less quick and active, Hannah con- 
trived to obtain an admission to the charity school, where he 
made great progress, — retaining him at home, however, in 
the haymaking, and reaping season, or whenever his services 
could be made available, to the great annoyance of the school- 
master, whose favourite he is, and who piques himself so much 
on George's scholarship, that it is the general opinion that this 
much-vaunted pupil will, in process of time, be promoted to 
the post of assistant, and may, possibly, in course of years, 
rise to the dignity of a parish pedagogue, in his own person ; 
so that his sister, although still making him useful at odd 
times, now considers George as pretty well off her hands, 
whilst his elder brother, Tom, could take an under-gardener's 
place directly, if he were not too important at home, to be 
spared even for a day. 



64 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

In short, during the five years that she has ruled at the cot- 
tage, the world has gone well with Hannah Bint. Her cows, 
her calves, her pigs, her bees, her poultry, have each, in their 
several ways, thriven and prospered. She has even brought 
Watch to like buttermilk, as well as strong beer, and has 
nearly persuaded her father, (to whose wants and wishes she is 
most anxiously attentive,) to accept of milk as a substitute 
for gin. 



EXERCISE XVII. 

THE VOICE OF SPRING. Mrs. Hemans. 

[An example of the tones of joy. The common fault in the reading 
of such pieces, is the style of voice called " sing-song"] 

I come ! I come ! — Ye have called me long : 
I come o'er the mountain, with light and song ! 
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, 
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, 
By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass, 
By the green leaves opening as I pass. 

I have breathed on the south, — and the chestnut flowers, 
By thousands, have burst from the forest bowers; 
And the ancient graves, and the fallen fanes, 
Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains : — 
But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom, 
To speak of the ruin or the tomb ! 

I have looked o'er the hills of the stormy north ; — 

And the larch has hung all his tassels forth; 

And the fisher is out on the sunny sea; 

And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free; 

And the pine has a fringe of softer green ; 

And the moss looks bright, where my foot hath been. 

I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh, 
And called out each voice of the deep blue sky, — 
From the night-bird's lay, through the starry time, 
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime, 
To the swan's wild note, by the Iceland lakes, 
When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 65 

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain ; — 
They are sweeping on to the silvery main, 
They are flashing down from the mountain brows, 
They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs, 
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves; 
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves ! 

Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come ! 
Where the violets lie may be now your home. 
Ye of the rose lip and the dew-bright eye, 
And the bounding footstep, to meet me, fly ! 
With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay, 
Come forth to the sunshine : — I may not stay. 



EXERCISE XVIII. 

LOVE OF FINERY, Mrs. Farrar. 

[An example of the tones of conversation — free, however, from the 
common faults of feebleness, in one style, and sjnartness, in another.] 

Some persons seem to have an inherent love of finery, and 
adhere to it pertinaciously, even when their understandings are 
convinced that it is repugnant to the feelings of refined minds, 
and that it is a trait common to all barbarous tribes : they can- 
not reason upon their preferences; they can only say, that what 
others condemn as tawdry, looks pretty to them. 

This perversion generally takes place very early, and is 
much to be regretted, as it prevents the growth of purer prin- 
ciples. I have often thought that the very bad taste in which 
dolls are usually dressed, may have something to do with this 
early love of finery. Children have often a real affection for 
their puppets ; and when these are bedizened in all the colours 
of the rainbow, and decked in all the odds and ends of the 
finery that can be stuck upon them, the little dears learn, by 
this association, to love this tawdry ornament ; whereas, a well- 
dressed doll would have an important influence in establishing 
a correct taste in the mind of a child. I once knew a family 
where the dolls were all very neatly dressed, like babies and 
little children, and not as fine ladies, on purpose to make them 
a more rational and useful source of amusement ; and I would 
6* 



66 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

beg all young ladies who dress dolls for little girls, to do it in 
such a manner as not to foster a love of finery. 

I have heard of a mother who guarded her daughters against 
this bad taste, by making it one of their childish punishments 
to wear a very tawdry cap full of feathers, and flowers, and 
bows of ribands, of all colours. — Judging by what we some- 
times see worn by grown people, we might suppose that such 
a cap had been their reward in childhood, rather than their 
punishment, and was thus recommended to their best affec- 
tions. The love of finery is rarely cured, and forms an insur- 
mountable obstacle to the cultivation of a pure taste. Who- 
soever is conscious of possessing it, ought to mistrust her own 
judgment in matters of taste, and be willing to take the advice 
of others. 



EXERCISE XIX. 

TO THE SNOWDROP. Procter. 

[One means of avoiding the common false style of reading such 
pieces as the following, is never to place an emphasis on the insig- 
nificant words of, and, the, &c, even although the accent of the 
verse would seem to require it. Verse is not intended to be read 
with a perfect sameness of accent. Such reading destroys its 
true beauty. The proper rule, in all cases, is, Read by the 
sense rather than the mere sound.] 

Pretty firstling of the year, 

Herald of the host of flowers, 
Hast thou left thy cavern drear, 

In the hope of summer hours? — 

Back unto thy earthen bowers! 
Back to thy warm world below, 

Till the strength of suns and showers 
Quell the now relentless snow! 

Art still here? — Alive, and blithe, — 
Though the stormy night hath fled, 

And the Frost hath passed his scythe 
O'er thy small unsheltered head? 
Ah! some lie amid the dead, — 

Many a giant stubborn tree, 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 67 

Many a plant, its spirit shed, — 
That were better nursed than thee ! 

What hath saved thee? — Thou wast not 

'Gainst the arrowy winter furred, — 
Armed in scale, — but all forgot 

When the frozen winds were stirred. 

Nature, who doth clothe the bird, 
Should have hid thee in the earth, 

Till the cuckoo's song was heard, 
And the Spring let loose her mirth. 

Nature, — deep and mystic word, — 

Mighty mother, still unknown ! — 
Thou didst sure the snowdrop gird 

With an armour all thine own ! 

Thou, who sent' st it forth alone 
To the cold and sullen season, 

(Like a thought at random thrown,) 
Sent'st it thus for some grave reason. 

If 'twere but to pierce the mind 

With a single gentle thought, 
Who shall deem thee harsh or blind? 

Who that thou hast vainly wrought? — 

Hoard the gentle virtue caught 
From the snowdrop, — reader wise ! 

Good is good, wherever taught, 
On the ground, or in the skies! 



EXERCISE XX. 

THE TWO MONKEYS. Gay. 

[An example of lively, talking tone, in verse, — requiring attention to 
light, easy accent, not marked too strongly by the metre.] 

The learned, full of inward pride, 
The fops of outward show deride; 
The fop, with learning at defiance, 
Scoffs at the pedant and the science: 



68 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

The Don, a formal, solemn strutter, 
Despises Monsieur's airs and flutter ; 
While Monsieur mocks the formal fool, 
Who looks, and speaks, and walks, by rule. 
Britain, a medley of the twain, 
As pert as France, as grave as Spain, 
In fancy wiser than the rest, 
Laughs at them both, of both the jest. 
Is not the Poet's chiming close 
Censured by all the sons of Prose, 
While bards of quick imagination 
Despise the sleepy prose narration? 
Men laugh at apes : they men contemn ; 
For what are we but apes to them? 

Two monkeys went to Southwark fair; — 
No critics had a sourer air : 
They forced their way through draggled folks, 
Who gaped to catch Jack Pudding's jokes; 
Then took their tickets for the show, 
And got by chance the foremost row. 
To see their grave, observing face, 
Provoked a laugh through all the place. 

" Brother," says Pug, and turned his head, — 
" The rabble 's monstrously ill-bred." 

Now through the booth loud hisses ran, 
Nor ended till the show began. 
The tumbler whirls the flip-flap round, 
With somersets he shakes the ground; 
The cord beneath the dancer springs; 
Aloft in air the vaulter swings; 
Distorted now, now prone depends, 
Now through his twisted arms ascends; — 
The crowd, in wonder and delight, 
With clapping hands applaud the sight. 

With smiles, quoth Pug, " If pranks like these 
The giant apes of reason please, 
How would they wonder at our arts ! 
They must adore us for our parts. 
High on the twig I've seen you cling, 
Play, twist, and turn, in airy ring : 
How can those clumsy things, like me 
Fly with a bound from tree to tree? 
But yet, by this applause, we find 
These emulators of our kind 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 69 

Discern our worth, our parts regard, 
Who our mean mimics thus reward." 

" Brother," the grinning mate replies, 
" In this I grant that man is wise : 
While good example they pursue, 
We must allow some praise is due. 
But when they strain beyond their guide, 
I laugh to scorn the mimic pride; 
For how fantastic is the sight, 
To meet men always bolt upright, 
Because we sometimes walk on two! — 
I hate the imitating crew!" 



EXERCISE XXI. 

PARABLES . * Krummacher. 

[Pieces in which the style resembles that of the Bible, should be read 
with an easy voice, corresponding to the simplicity of manner, in 
the language of such passages. The common fault, in the reading 
of pieces like these, is a heavy, formal tone.] 

On one occasion, Gamaliel addressed the wise Nathan, say- 
ing, " Master, why do you instruct us in parables?" 

Nathan answered and said, " Behold, my son, when I be- 
came a man, I perceived the word of the Lord in my heart, 
that I should become an instructor of the people, and give tes- 
timony to the truth ; and the spirit of God came upon me. 

" Then I permitted my beard to grow, and clothed myself 
in coarse hair-cloth, and went among the people, and pointed 
out their errors, in strong and powerful language. But they 
fled before me, and did not take my words to heart, or consid- 
ered my censure as applying to others. Then I was chafed in 
spirit, and fled, in the night, to Mount Hermon, and said in my 
heart, ' If they will not receive the light, may they wander in 
gloom, and be lost in darkness ! ' 

" Thus I cried, and wandered about, with feelings of anger, 
during the night. 

" But behold ! at length, twilight came ; and the dawn of day 

* Pronounced, Kroom'maher, — h sounding very harsh. 



70 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

appeared in the heavens, and the morning dew fell upon the 
mountain. Then the night disappeared ; and exhalations rose 
from Hermon. 

" The glimmer of the early morn was soft and lovely ; and 
clouds of mist floated round the summit of the mountain, and 
moistened the earth. 

" Men wandered cheerfully along, and looked toward the 
shining east. At length day appeared; and the sun came 
forth from the arms of twilight, and irradiated the plants still 
wet with dew. 

" And I stood and looked ; and my heart was joyful. The 
morning wind arose ; and I heard in its soft murmuring the 
voice of the Lord, which addressed me, saying, ' Behold, Na- 
than, thus Heaven sends her most precious and delicate gift to 
the sons of earth, the sweet light of day/ 

" As I descended from the mountain/' continued the proph- 
et, " the spirit of the Lord conducted me under a pomegranate- 
tree. The tree was beautiful and shady ; and it bore, at the 
same time, blossoms and fruit. 

" And I stood in its shade, and viewed its blossoms, and 
said, ■ Oh ! how beautiful and blushing art thou, — like the 
soft breath of innocence, on the blooming cheeks of the daugh- 
ters of Israel ! ■ And as I bent over, I found the excellent fruit 
concealed in the shade of the leaves. 

" Then the word of the Lord came to me out of the pome- 
granate-tree, and said, ' Behold, Nathan, thus nature promises 
the lovely fruit in the simple blossom, and presents it, her hand 
being concealed, in the shade of the leaves ! ' 

" And now," continued the wise Nathan, " I returned to 
Salem, with a joyful spirit. I laid my coarse garment aside, 
anointed my head, and taught the truth in a cheerful manner, 
and in parables. 

" For truth is serious, and has few friends. Therefore love 
its simple and pleasing dress, because it gains both friends and 
disciples." 



EXERCISE XXII. 
ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL. Leigh Hunt. 

Abou Ben Adhem, (may his tribe increase!) 
Awoke, one night, from a deep dream of peace, 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 71 

And saw, within the moonlight in his room, 

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, 

An angel, writing in a book of gold. 

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold; 

And to the presence in the room he said, 

"What writest thou?' 5 — The vision raised its head, 

And, with a look made of all sweet accord, 

Answered, " The names of those that love the Lord." 

"And is mine one?" said Abou. — "Nay, not so," 

Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, 

But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then, 

Write me as one who loves his fellow-men." 

The angel wrote, and vanished. — The next night, 

It came again, with a great wakening light, 

And showed the names whom love of God had blessed; 

And lo ! Ben Adhem' s name led all the rest ! 



EXERCISE XXIII. 

THE GOTHIC CHAPEL. Dickens. 

[An example of low, slow, soft, and solemn tone, with one contrast of 
joy oiis expression.] 

Full of meditations, Nelly reached the church. It was 
easy to find the key belonging to the outer door; for each was 
labelled on a scrap of yellow parchment. Its very turning in 
the lock, awoke a hollow sound ; and when she entered with a 
faltering step, the echoes that it raised in closing, made her 
start. 

Every thing in our lives, whether of good or evil, affects us 
most by contrast. If the peace of the simple village had 
moved the child more strongly, because of the dark and 
troubled ways that lay beyond, and through which she had 
journeyed with such failing feet, what was the deep impression 
of finding herself alone in that solemn building ; where the 
very light, coming through sunken windows, seemed old and 
gray ; and the air, redolent of earth and mould, seemed laden 
with decay, purified by time of all its grosser atoms, and 
sighed through arch and aisle, and clustered pillars, like the 
breath of ages gone ! 



72 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Here was the broken pavement, worn so long ago by pious 
feet, that Time, stealing on the pilgrims' steps, had trodden 
out their track, and left but crumbling stones. Here were the 
rotten beam, the sinking arch, the sapped and mouldering 
wall, the lowly trench of earth, the stately tomb, on which no 
epitaph remained ; — all, — marble, stone, iron, wood, and 
dust, — one common monument of ruin. The best work and 
the worst, the plainest and the richest, the stateliest and the 
least imposing, — both of Heaven's work and man's, all found 
one common level here, and told one common tale. 

Some part of the edifice had been a baronial chapel ; and 
here were effigies of warriors stretched upon their beds of 
stone, with folded hands, cross-legged, — those who had fought 
in the "holy wars," — girded with their swords, and cased in 
armour, as they had lived. Some of these knights had their 
own weapons, helmets, coats of mail, hanging upon the walls 
hard by, and dangling from rusty hooks. Broken and dilapi- 
dated as they were, they yet retained their ancient form, and 
something of their ancient aspect. Thus violent deeds live 
after men upon the earth ; and traces of war and bloodshed 
will survive in mournful shapes, long after those who worked 
the desolation are but atoms of earth themselves. 

The child sat down in this old, silent place, — the stark 
figures on the tombs made it more quiet there than elsewhere, 
to her fancy, — and, gazing around with a feeling of awe, tem- 
pered with a calm delight, felt that now she was happy, and at 
rest. She took a Bible from the shelf, and read ; then laying 
it down, thought of the summer days and the bright spring 
time that would come, — of the rays of sun that would fall in 
aslant upon the sleeping forms, — of the leaves that would 
flutter at the window, and play in glistening shadows on the 
pavement, — of the songs of birds, and the growth of buds 
and blossoms out of doors, — of the sweet air, that would steal 
in, and gently wave the tattered banners overhead. 

What if the spot awakened thoughts of death 1 Die who 
would, it would still remain the same : these sights and sounds 
would still go on as happily as ever. It would be no pain to 
sleep amidst them. 

She left the chapel, — very slowly, and often turning back 
to gaze again, — and coming to a low door, which led into the 
tower, opened it, and climbed the winding stairs in darkness; 
save where she looked down, through narrow loop-holes, on the 
place she had left, or caught a glimmering vision of the dusty 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 73 

bells. At length, she gained the end of the ascent, and stood 
upon the turret-top. 

Oh ! the glory of the sudden burst of light ; the freshness 
of the fields and woods, stretching away, on every side, and 
meeting the bright blue sky ; the cattle grazing in the pas- 
turage ; the smoke, that, coming from among the trees, seemed 
to rise upward from the green earth ; the children yet at their 
gambols down below ; — all, every thing, so beautiful and 
happy. It was like passing from death to life : it was drawing 
nearer to Heaven. Who will wonder that the child looked 
round and wept? 

The children were gone, by the time she emerged into the 
porch, and locked the door. As she passed the schoolhouse, 
she could hear the busy hum of voices. Her friend had 
begun his labours only that day. The noise grew louder ; and, 
looking back, she saw the boys come trooping out, and dis- 
perse themselves with merry shouts and play. " It is a good 
thing," thought the child : " I am very glad they pass the 
church." And then she stopped, to fancy how the noise 
would sound inside, and how gently it would seem to die away 
upon the ear. 

Again that day, — yes, twice again, — she stole back to the 
old chapel, and in her former seat read from the same book, 
or indulged the same quiet train of thought. Even when it 
had grown dusk, and the shadows of coming night made it 
more solemn still, the child remained like one rooted to the 
spot, and had no fear or thought of stirring. 

Her friends, who had gone in quest of her, found her there, 
at last, and took her home. She looked pale, but very happy, 
until they separated for the night ; and then, as the poor school- 
master stooped down to kiss her cheek, he felt a tear upon 
his lips. 



EXERCISE XXIV. 

THE SUNBEAM. Mrs. Hemans. 

[An example of the tone of joy.] 

Thou art no lingerer in monarch's hall, — 
A joy thou art, and a wealth to all ! 
A bearer of hope unto land and sea : — 
Sunbeam! what gift hath the world like thee? 

7 



74 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Thou art walking the billows, and Ocean smiles : — 
Thou hast touched with glory his thousand isles, — 
Thou hast lit up the ships, and the feathery foam, 
And gladdened the sailor, like words from home. 

To the solemn depths of the forest shades, 
Thou art streaming on through their green arcades; 
And the quivering leaves that have caught thy glow, 
Like fire-flies glance to the pools below. 

I looked on the mountains ; — a vapour lay 
Folding their heights in its dark array : — 
Thou brakest forth ; — and the mist became 
A crown and a mantle of living flame. 

I looked on the peasant's lowly cot ; — 
Something of sadness had wrapped the spot; 
But a gleam of thee on its casement fell, 
And it laughed into beauty, at that bright spell. 

To the earth's wild places a guest thou art, 
Flushing the waste like the rose's heart; 
And thou scornest not, from thy pomp to shed 
A tender light on the ruin's head. 

Thou tak'st through the dim church-aisle thy way, 
And its pillars from twilight flash forth to day; 
And its high pale tombs, with their trophies old, 
Are bathed in a flood as of burning gold. 

And thou turnest not from the humblest grave, 
Where a flower to the sighing winds may wave : 
Thou scatter'st its gloom like the dreams of rest ; — 
Thou sleepest in love on its grassy breast. 

Sunbeam of summer, oh ! what is like thee 1 

Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea ! — 

One thing is like thee, to mortals given, — 

The faith touching all things with hues of Heaven. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER- 75 



EXERCISE XXV. 

THE MONTH OF MARCH, IN ENGLAND. HowitL 

[An example of lively and cheerful tones.] 

There are frequently mornings in March, when a lover of 
nature may enjoy, in a stroll, sensations not to be exceeded, 
or, perhaps, equalled by any thing which the full glory of sum- 
mer can awaken, — mornings which tempt us to cast the 
memory of winter, or the fear of its recurrence, out of our 
thoughts. The air is mild and balmy, with, now and then, a 
cool gush by no means unpleasant, but, on the contrary, con- 
tributing towards that cheering and peculiar feeling, which 
we experience only in spring. The sky is clear ; the sun 
flings abroad not only a gladdening splendour, but an almost 
summer glow. The world seems suddenly aroused to hope 
and enjoyment. The fields are assuming a vernal greenness ; 
— the buds are swelling in the hedges; — the banks are dis- 
playing, amidst the brown remains of last year's vegetation, 
the luxuriant weeds of this. There are ground-ivy, chervil, 
the azure leaves and burnished flowers of the pilewort, 

" The first gilt thing 

Which wears the trembling pearls of spring ; " 

and many other fresh and early bursts of greenery. 

All unexpectedly, too, in some embowered lane, you are 
arrested by the delicious odour of violets, those sweetest of 
Flora's children, which have furnished so many pretty allu- 
sions to the poets ; and which are not yet exhausted : they 
are like true friends ; — we do not know half their sweetness 
till they have felt the sunshine of our kindness; and, again, 
they are like the pleasures of our childhood, the earliest and 
the most beautiful. Now, however, they are to be seen in all 
their glory, — blue and white, modestly peering through their 
thickly-clustering leaves. 

As you pass cottages, they have caught the happy infection. 
There are windows thrown open, and doors standing ajar. 
The inhabitants are in their gardens ; some clearing away 
rubbish, some turning up the light and fresh-smelling soil, 
amongst the turfs of snow-drops and rows of glowing yellow 
crocuses, which everywhere abound ; and the children, — ten 
to one, — are busy peeping into the first bird's nest of the 



76 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

season, — the hedge-sparrow's, with its four blue eggs, snugly, 
but unwisely, built in the pile of old pea-rods. 

In the fields, the labourers are plashing and trimming the 
fences ; and in all directions are teams at plough. You smell 
the wholesome, and we may truly say, aromatic soil, as it is 
turned up to the sun, brown and rich, the whole country over. 
It is delightful, as you pass along deep, hollow lanes, or are 
hidden in copses, to hear the tingling gears of the horses, and 
the clear voices of the lads calling to them. It is not less 
pleasant to catch the busy caw of the crows, and the first cry 
of the young lambs. The hares are hopping about the fields ; 
the excitement of the season overcoming their habitual timidity. 
The bees are revelling in the yellow catkins of the willow. 

The woods, though yet unadorned with their leafy garniture, 
are beautiful to look on ; they seem flushed with life. Their 
boughs are of a clear and glossy lead colour, and the tree-tops 
are rich with the vigorous hues of brown, red, and purple ; 
and if you plunge into their solitudes, there are symptoms of 
revivification under your feet, the springing mercury, and 
green blades of the bluebells, — and perhaps, above you, the 
early nest of the thrush, perched between the boughs of a 
young oak, to tinge your thoughts with the anticipation of 
summer. 

These are mornings not to be neglected by the lover of 
Nature ; and if not neglected, then, not to be forgotten ; for 
they will stir up the springs of memory, and make us live over 
again times and seasons, in which we cannot, for the pleasure 
and purity of our spirits, live too much. 



EXERCISE XXVI. 



MARCH.* Bryant. 



[This piece exemplifies contrasts of loud and soft tone, as the descrip- 
tion changes from storm to calm and sunshine.] 

The stormy March is come at last, 

With wind and cloud and changing skies; 

I hear the rushing of the blast 

That through the snowy valley flies. 

* The description, in this instance, applies to the month of March, 
as experienced in our own Northern and Middle States. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 77 

Ah ! passing few are they who speak, 
Wild, stormy month ! in praise of thee ; 

Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, 
Thou art a welcome month to me. 

For thou, to northern lands again, 

The glad and glorious sun dost bring, 

And thou hast joined the gentle train, 
And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. 

And, in thy reign of blast and storm, 
Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, 

When the changed winds are soft and warm, 
And heaven puts on the blue of May. 

Then sing aloud the gushing rills, 

And the full springs, from frost set free, 

That, brightly leaping down the hills, 
Are just set out to meet the sea. 

The year's departing beauty hides 

Of wintry storms the sullen threat; 
But, in thy sternest frown, abides 

A look of kindly promise yet. 

Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies 
And that soft time of sunny showers, 

When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, 
Seems of a brighter world than ours. 



EXERCISE XXVII. 

THE WINDS. Hannah F. Gould. 

[The prevailing tone of this piece is hold, full, and rapid: the last 
two lines soft, low, and slow, as the voice changes to the effect of 
reverence.] 

We come, we come ! and ye feel our might, 
As we're hastening on in our boundless flight, 
And over the mountains, and over the deep, 

Our broad, invisible pinions sweep, 

7 # 



INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Like the spirit of Liberty, wild and free ! 
And ye look on our works, and own 'tis we : — 
Ye call us the Winds; — but can ye tell 
Whither we go, or where we dwell? 

Ye mark as we vary our forms of power, 

And fell the forest, or fan the flower, 

When the harebell moves, and the rush is bent, 

When the tower 's o'erthrown, and the oak is rent, 

As we waft the bark o'er the slumbering wave, 

Or hurry its crew to a watery grave; 

And ye say it is we ! — but can ye trace 

The wandering Winds to their secret place ? 

And whether our breath be loud and high, 

Or come in a soft and balmy sigh, 

Our threatenings fill the soul with fear, 

Or our gentle whisperings woo the ear 

With music aerial, still 'tis we; 

And ye list, and ye look ; — but what do ye see ? — 

Can ye hush one sound of our voice to peace, 

Or waken one note, when our numbers cease? 

Our dwelling is in the Almighty's hand : 
We come and we go at his command; 
Though joy or sorrow may mark our track, 
His will is our guide, and we look not back ; 
And if, in our wrath, ye would turn us away, 
Or win us in gentlest air to play, 
Then lift up your hearts to Him who binds, 
Or frees, as He will, the obedient Winds. 



EXERCISE XXVIII. 



THE FISHERMAN. Moir. 



[This piece exemplifies the deepening tones, successively, of awe, 
fear, terror, and despair ; and closes with that of joy. The voice 
is low and suppressed, in the first two stanzas, — loud in the first, 
and soft in the second part of the third, — loud and rapid in the first 
part, and soft, low, and slow, in the second part of the fourth, — 
loud and rapid, throughout the fifth, — low and slow, in the first 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 79 

part, and low, slow, soft, and sad, in the second part of the sixth, — 
loud, high, and rapid, throughout the seventh, and loud, high, and 
joyous, throughout the eighth.] 

A lonely man is in that skiff; — 

A storm is on the sea ! 
The night is dark, and drear that cliff; — 

For breakers are a-lee ! 

The wild sea-gull, with cowering crest, 

Swoops o'er the swelling wave ; 
The wizard petrel leaves his nest 

In yonder coral cave. 

Thunder and hail with power assail 

The absent fisher's cot : 
Hark ! how his trembling children wail 

Their toiling father's lot. 

The frail bark, like a spirit car, 

Springs on its arrowy way ; 
Nor sun, nor moon, nor guiding star 

Shines on the trackless bay. 

The tempest thickens; — foaming white 

The waves rush round him now; 
The torn sail like a water sprite 

Streams o'er the plunging bow. 

His hand has left the useless oar ; — 

His head sinks in despair ; — 
Alas! his home will he no more 

With wife or children share. 

But look ! — what ray breaks o'er the path 
That wandering bark should steer? — 

What voice is heard, above the wrath 
Of storm so wild and drear? 

A woman's angel form stands there, 

Upon the sounding shore ; 
And, answering to his whispered prayer, 

She guides him home once more. 



80 INTRODUCTION TO THE 



EXERCISE XXIX. 

THE DOVE IN THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 

New York Observer. 

[An example of simple narrative, requiring soft and gentle but distinct 

utterance.] 

The following incident occurred, a few weeks since, in a 
village of one of the Southern counties of our state. It was a 
warm Sabbath afternoon ; and the doors of the village church 
were thrown open, to let in the balmy air from the fields with- 
out. The congregation had assembled ; and, while the minis- 
ter was reading the first hymn, a beautiful dove entered the 
door, and came walking up the main aisle. 

Such a visitor drew, of course, universal attention. But as 
the choir arose to sing, he seemed startled, and lifting himself 
on his wings, alighted on the stove-pipe above him, where he 
sat bending his glossy neck, and turning his head so as to 
catch the harmony, as it swelled through the temple of God. 
Whether it was the chorus of voices, or the full-toned notes 
of the organ, that captivated him, I cannot tell ; but he sat the 
perfect picture of earnest attention, till the music ceased. 

Waiting a moment, as if to hear the strain commence, he 
started from his perch, and sailed to the top of the organ, 
where he furled his pinions, and sat, and looked down on the 
audience. The young clergyman arose to pray. He is dis- 
tinguished for the earnestness and fervour of his invocation ; 
and, as he stood with his hands around the Bible, which lay 
clasped before him, humbly beseeching the Father of all good 
to send down his Holy Spirit, that beautiful bird pitched from 
its resting-place on the organ, and, sailing down, on level 
wing, the whole length of the church, perched on the Bible, 
directly between the hands of the clergyman. 

It was merely a natural occurrence, but how beautiful the 
picture ! There stood the messenger of God, with face 
toward heaven, pleading for heaven's blessings, — the Bible 
before him, around which his hands were reverently clasped ; 
while on it stood that beautiful and innocent dove. The three 
thus together formed a group full of interest, and symbolizing 
all that is dear to man. The word of God was before the 
people, with God's chosen emblem upon it, and God's herald 
clasping them both as he prayed. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 81 

What wonder is it, if a superstitious feeling ran through the 
house, as the people watched that dove, — the emblem of inno- 
cence and purity and the divine Spirit itself, — standing on 
the Bible, and looking gently down on them ! Beautiful bird ! 
it centred, for a time, the affections of all on it ; and he who 
could have injured it there, would have injured hundreds of 
hearts, at the same time. The pressure of its tiny feet was no 
sacrilege there ; for the expression of its soft eye was inno- 
cence and love. 

The clergyman, feeling the presence of the bird, and fear- 
ing it might distract the attention of his hearers, gently passed 
his hand over the Bible. The dove, unstartled, merely hopped 
over it on the cushion, where it sat till prayer was ended. It 
then rose, and sailed away. 

In former times, the dove would have been regarded a 
spiritual visitant from the unseen world, sent on a special 
mission, in answer to prayer, and awakened feelings of awe 
and reverence. To us, it was only a natural but unusual oc- 
currence, awakening simply the sentiment of beauty. It was 
a new and accidental figure, introduced suddenly into a beau- 
tiful picture, giving greater harmony and perfection to what 
we deemed perfect before. There was no religion in it ; but 
it was full of beauty. 



EXERCISE XXX. 



A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE. H. W. Longfellow. 

[Quiet and gentle tone, and long pauses, prevail throughout this 

piece.] 

This is the place. — Stand still, my steed : 

Let me review the scene, 
And summon from the shadowy Past 

The forms that once have been. 

The Past and Present reunite 

Beneath Time's flowing tide, 
Like footprints hidden by a brook, 

But seen on either side. 



82 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Here runs the highway to the town, 
There the green lane descends, 

Through which I walked to church with thee, 
O gentlest of my friends ! 

The shadow of the linden-tree 

Lay moving on the grass ; — 
Between them and the moving bough, 

A shadow, thou didst pass. 

Thy dress was like the lilies, 
And thy heart as pure as they : 

One of God's holy angels 
Did walk with me that day. 

I saw the branches of the trees 
Bend down thy touch to meet, 

The clover-blossoms in the grass 
Rise up to kiss thy feet. 

" Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares, 

Of earth and folly born ! " 
Solemnly sang the village choir, 

On that sweet Sabbath morn. 

Through the closed blinds, the golden sun 

Poured in a dusty beam, 
Like the celestial ladder 

Of the ancient patriarch's dream. 

And ever and anon, the wind, 

Sweet-scented by the hay, 
Turned o'er the hymn-book's fluttering leaves, 

That on the window lay. 

Long was the good man's sermon, 

But it seemed not so to me ; 
For he spake of Ruth the beautiful, 

And still I thought of thee. 

Long was the prayer he uttered, 

But it seemed not so to me ; 
For in my heart I prayed with him, 

But still I thought of thee. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 83 

But now, alas ! the place seems changed ; 

Thou art no longer here : 
Part of the sunshine of the scene 

With thee did disappear. 

Though thoughts, deep-rooted in my heart, 

Like pine-trees dark and high, 
Subdue the light of noon, and breathe 

A low and ceaseless sigh ; 

This memory brightens o'er the Past, 

As when the sun, concealed 
Behind some cloud that near us hangs, 

Shines on a distant field. 



EXERCISE XXXI. 

THE LOG SCHOOLHOUSE. J. Hall. 
[An example of animated and cheerful tones.] 

Not far from my father's residence, there was a school- 
house. It was a small log building, such as we often see in 
new countries, and stood in a grove, on an eminence near the 
road. Whether chance, or taste, or convenience, dictated 
the choice of the spot, I cannot tell ; but it always struck me 
as being not only well adapted to the purpose, to which it 
was appropriated, but remarkably picturesque. 

The grove contained not more than an acre or two of 
ground ; but the trees were large and spreading oaks, that I 
have seldom seen surpassed in size or beauty ; for every ob- 
server of nature will agree with me, that trees, even of the 
same species, differ in appearance as widely as human beings. 
In every grove, the vegetation has some distinguishing char- 
acteristic, just as all the inhabitants of a village have some 
traits in common. The trees are stinted or luxuriant, spread- 
ing or tall, majestic or beautiful ; or else they are vulgar, 
common-place trees, as devoid of interest, as the unmeaning 
people whom we meet with every day. 

I never see an oak standing by the roadside, without ob- 
serving its peculiarities. Some are round and portly, some 



84 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

tall and spindling ; some aspire, and others grovel ; one has 
a gracefully-rounded outline, and another a rugged, irregular 
shape. Trees, too, have their diseases, their accidents, and 
their adventures. They are torn by the wind, shattered by 
the lightning, and nipped by the frost ; and while some of 
them have in their youth the aspect of sallow and dyspeptic 
invalids, others flourish in a green old age; and whether 
standing singly in the field, or crowded together in the forest, 
whether embraced by ivy, clothed with moss, or* hung with 
mistletoe, they always attract attention, by the peculiarities 
they derive from these and other incidents. 

Our schoolhouse oaks were of a majestic kind. They had 
braved the elements for at least a century, and seemed to be 
still in the vigour of life. Their great, dark trunks were 
covered with moss; and their immense branches, interlocking 
far above the ground, shadowed it with a canopy, that not a 
sunbeam could penetrate. The soil was trodden hard and 
smooth, by the schoolboys, and covered with a short green- 
sward, over which the winds swept so freely, as to carry away 
all the fallen leaves. 

Here we played and wrestled, and ran races; here, in hot 
weather, the master, forsaking the schoolhouse, disposed his 
noisy pupils in groups among the trees ; here the rustic orator 
harangued his patriotic fellow-citizens on the anniversary of 
Independence ; and here the itinerant preacher addressed the 
neighbourhood on the Sabbath. 

On occasions like the latter, our grove became as gay as a 
parterre. The bonnets, and ribands, and calicoes, were as 
numerous, and many-coloured, as the flowers of the field. 
The farmers and their families generally came to preaching 
on horseback ; and it was a fortunate animal that bore a 
lighter burden than two adults, and a brace of children. 
The young women rode behind their brothers or sweethearts, 
or in default of such attendants, mounted sociably in pairs ; 
the best rider taking the saddle, and holding the reins, as 
smart girls are always willing enough to do. 

It was a goodly sight to see the horses hitched to the trees, 
in every direction, showing off their sleek hides, and well- 
combed manes, to the best advantage, and decked with new 
saddles, and gaudy saddlecloths, and fine riding skirts, that 
were never exposed to the weather or to the eye, except on 
Sunday and holidays : then the people, before the sermon 
began, sitting in groups, or strolling in little companies, look- 
ing so gay and so happy, that Sunday seemed to be to them, 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 85 

not merely a day of rest, but of thanksgiving and enjoyment. 
When they collected round the preacher, sitting silent and 
motionless, with their heads uncovered, and thrown back in 
devout attention, the scene acquired a deeper and graver 
interest. 

I have never witnessed that spectacle, on a calm and sunny 
day, without a sensation of thrilling pleasure ; and, often as I 
have seen it, the impression that it made, continued ever 
fresh and beautiful. There was a mingled cheerfulness and 
solemnity in this sight, that attached itself to the spot ; and I 
have afterwards felt it in the midst of my studies or sports, on 
schooldays ; — a calmness creeping over me, a feeling that 
the place was hallowed, — like that which we experience 
when strolling in a graveyard, or lingering in the aisle of a 
church. 



EXERCISE XXXII. 

MODESTY. Lucretia M. Davidson. 
[An example of quiet and softened tone.] 

There is a sweet, though humble flower, 
Which grows in nature's wildest bed ; 

It blossoms in the lonely bower, 

But withers 'neath the gazer's tread. 

'Tis reared alone, far, far away 

From the wild, noxious weeds of death; 
Around its brow the sunbeams play ; 

The evening dewdrop is its wreath. 

'Tis modesty; 'tis nature's child ; 

The loveliest, sweetest, meekest flower 
That ever blossomed in the wild, 

Or trembled 'neath the evening shower. 

'Tis modesty ; — so pure, so fair, 

That woman's features lovelier grow, 

When that sweet flower is blooming there, 
The brightest beauty of her brow. 



86 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. Croly. 

[Subdued and tender expression.] 

White bud ! that in meek beauty so dost lean, 
Thy cloistered cheek as pale as moonlight snow, 

Thou seem'st beneath thy huge, high leaf of green, 
An eremite beneath his mountain's brow. 

White bud ! thou'rt emblem of a lovelier thing, — 
The broken spirit that its anguish bears 

To silent shades, and there sits offering 
To Heaven, the holy fragrance of its tears. 



EXERCISE XXXIII. 

THE MAGPIES. 3Iiss Mitford. 

[Lively and humorous tones, in talking style, prevail throughout this 

exercise.] 

" Come along, girls ! Helen ! Caroline ! I say, don't stand 
jabbering there upon the stairs, but come down this instant; 
or Dash and I will be off without you ! " 

This elegant speech was shouted from the bottom of the 
great staircase at Dinely Hall, by young George Dinely, an 
Etonian* of eleven years old, just come home for the holi- 
days, to his two younger sisters, who stood disputing very 
ardently in French, at the top. The cause of contention 
was, — to say the truth, — no greater an object than the 
colour of a workbag, which they were about to make for their 
mamma; slate lined with pink being the choice of Miss 
Caroline, whilst Miss Helen preferred drab with a blue 
lining. 

" Don't stand there quarrelling about the colour of your 
trumpery," added George, " but come along ! " 

Now George would have scorned to know a syllable of any 
language except Latin and Greek ; but neither of the young 
ladies being Frenchwoman enough to construe the appella- 

* A pupil of Eton school, near Windsor, in England. 



YOUPsG ladies' reader. 87 

tion of the leading article, the words " drab " and " slate/' 
which came forth in native English pretty frequently, as well 
as the silk dangling in their hands, had enlightened him as to 
the matter in dispute. 

George was a true schoolboy, rough and kind ; affecting, 
perhaps, more roughness than naturally belonged to him, 
from a mistaken notion that it made him look bold, and Eng- 
lish, and manly. 

There cannot be a greater mistake, since the boldest man 
is commonly the mildest ; thus realizing, in every way, the 
expression of Shakspeare, which has been the subject of a 
somewhat unnecessary commentary, " He's gentle and not 
fearful.'' For the rest, our hero loved his sisters, which was 
very right; and loved to tease them, which was very wrong; 
and now he and his dog Dash, both wild with spirit, and hap- 
piness, were waiting most impatiently to go down to the vil- 
lage, on a visit to old Nurse Simmons and her magpies. 

Nurse Simmons was a very good and very cross old 
woman, who, after ruling in the nursery of Dinely Hall, for 
two generations, scolding and spoiling Sir Edward and his 
brothers, and performing, thirty years afterwards, the same 
good office for Master George and his sisters, had lately abdi- 
cated her throne, on the arrival of a French governess, and 
was now comfortably settled at a cottage of her own, in the 
village street. 

George Dinely and Dash had, already that morning, visited 
George's own pony, the garden, the pheasantry, the green- 
house, and the farm-yard ; had seen a brood of curious ban- 
tams, two litters of pigs, and a family of greyhound puppies ; 
and had few friends, old or new, left to visit, except Nurse 
Simmons, her cottage, and her magpie, a bird of such accom- 
plishments, that his sisters had even made it the subject of a 
letter to Eton. The magpie might, perhaps, claim an equal 
share with his mistress, in George's impatience ; and Dash, 
always eager to get out of doors, seemed nearly as fidgetty as 
his young master. 

Dash was as beautiful a dog as one should see in a sum- 
mer's day ; one of the large old English spaniels, which are 
now so rare, with a superb head, like those you see in Spanish 
pictures, and such ears ! — they more than met over his pretty 
spotted nose ; and when he lapped his milk, dipped into the 
pan at least two inches. His hair was long and shiny and 
wavy, not curly, partly of a rich dark liver colour, partly of 
a silvery white, and beautifully feathered about the legs. 



88 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Every body used to wonder that Dash, who apparently eat 
so little, should be in such good case. But the marvel was by 
no means so great as it seemed ; for his being George's pe- 
culiar pet and property did not hinder his being the universal 
favourite of the whole house, from the drawing-room to the 
kitchen. Not a creature could resist Dash's silent supplica- 
tions at meal-times, when he sat upon his haunches, looking 
amiable, with his large ears brought into their most becoming 
position ; his head a little on one side ; and his beautiful eyes 
fixed on your face, with as near an approach to speech as ever 
eyes made in the world. 

From Sir Edward and her Ladyship down to the stable-boy 
and the kitchen-maid, no inhabitant of Dinely Hall could 
resist Dash ! So that being a dog of most apprehensive 
sagacity, with regard to the hours appropriated to the several 
refections of the family, he usually contrived, between the 
dining-parlour, the schoolroom, and the servants' hall, to 
partake of three breakfasts and as many dinners, every day, 
— to say nothing of an occasional snap, at luncheon or sup- 
per-time. No wonder that Dash was in high condition. His 
good plight, however, had by no means impaired his activity. 
On the contrary, he was extremely lively as well as intelligent, 
and had a sort of circular motion, — a way of flinging him- 
self quite round on his hind feet, something after the fashion 
in which the French dancers twirl themselves round on one 
leg, — which not only showed unusual agility in a dog of his 
size, but gave token of the same spirit and animation which 
sparkled in his bright hazel eye. Any thing of eagerness or 
impatience, was sure to excite this motion; and George 
Dinely gravely assured his sisters, when they at length joined 
him in the hall, that Dash had flung himself six-and-twenty 
times, whilst waiting the conclusion of their dispute. 

Getting out into the lawn and the open air, did not tend 
to diminish Dash's glee or his capers; and the young party 
walked merrily on ; George telling of school pranks and school 
misfortunes, — the having lost or spoiled four hats since Easter, 
seemed rather to belong to the first class of adventures than 
the second, — his sisters listening dutifully and wonderingly ; 
and Dash following his own devices, now turning up a mouse's 
nest from a water furrow in the park, — now springing a 
covey of young partridges in a cornfield, — now plunging his 
whole hairy person in the brook, — and now splashing Miss 
Helen, from head to foot, by ungallantly jumping over her 
whilst crossing a stile, being thereunto prompted by a whistle 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 69 

from his young master, who had, with equal want of gallantry, 
le iped the stile first himself, and left his sisters to get over as 
they could; until, at last, the whole party having passed the 
stile, and crossed the bridge, and turned the churchyard 
corner, found themselves in the shady recesses of the Vicar- 
age Lane, and in full view of the vine-covered cottage of 
Nurse Simmons. 

As they advanced, they heard a prodigious chattering and 
jabbering, and soon got near enough to ascertain that the 
sound proceeded mainly from one of the parties they were 
come to visit, — Nurse Simmons's magpie. He was perched 
in the middle of the road, defending a long, dirty, bare bone 
of mutton, — doubtless his property, — on one end of which 
he stood, whilst the other extremity was occupied by a wild 
bird of the same species, who, between pecking at the bone, 
and fighting, and scolding, found full employment. 

The wild magpie was a beautiful creature, as wild magpies 
are, of a snowy white and a fine blue-black, — perfect in 
shape and plumage, and so superior in appearance to the 
tame bird, — ragged, draggled, and dirty, — that they hardly 
seemed of the same kind. Both were chattering away most 
furiously ; the one, in his natural and unintelligible gibberish, 
— the other, partly in his native tongue, and partly in that, 
for his skill in which he was so eminent, — thus turning his ac- 
complishments to an unexpected account, and larding his own 
lean speech with divers foreign garnishes, such as " What's 
o'clock? " and " How do you do? " and " Very well, I thank 
you," and " Poor pretty Mag ! " and " Mag's a good bird," — 
all delivered in the most vehement accent, and all doubtless 
understood by the unlearned adversary as terms of reproach. 

" What can those two magpies be quarrelling about? " — 
said Caroline, as soon as she could speak for laughing ; for, on 
the children's approach, the birds had abandoned the mutton- 
bone, which had been quietly borne away by Dash, who, in 
spite of his usual sumptuous fare, had no objection to such a 
windfall, and was lying, in great state, on a mossy bank, dis- 
cussing and enjoying the stolen morsel. 

" What a fury they are in ! I wish I knew what they are 
saying," pursued Caroline, as the squabble grew every mo- 
ment more angry and less intelligible. 

" They are talking nonsense, doubtless, as people usually 
do when they quarrel," quoth George, " and act wisely to 
clothe it in a foreign tongue ; perhaps they may be disputing 
about colours." 

8* 



90 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

"What an odd noise it is!" continued Caroline, by no 
means disposed to acknowledge her brother's compliment ; 
" I never heard any thing like it." 

" I have," said George, dryly. 

" I wonder whether they comprehend each other ! " ejacu- 
lated Miss Helen, following her sister's example, and taking 
no notice of the provoking George ; " they really do seem to 
understand ! " 

" As well as other magpies," observed the young gentle- 
man ; " why should they not 1 " 

" But what strange gibberish ! " added poor Helen. 

" Gibberish, Miss Helen ! Don't you hear that the birds are 
sputtering magpie French, sprinkled with a little magpie 
English 1 I was just going to ask you to explain it to me," 
replied the unmerciful George. " It is quite a parody upon your 
work-bag squabble," pursued their tormentor ; " only that the 
birds are the wiser, for I see they are parting, — the wild one 
flying away, the tame gentleman hopping towards us. Quite 
the scene of the work-bag over again," continued George, 
" only with less noise, and much shortened, — an abridged and 
corrected edition ! Really, young ladies, the magpies have 
the best of it," said the Etonian; and ofT he stalked into 
Nurse Simmons's cottage. 



EXERCISE XXXIV. 

SLIDE OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. Anon. 

[Examples of serious description require, as in the following piece, 
distinct enunciation, discriminating emphasis, and appropriate 
pauses. The common faults, in the reading of such pieces, are 
feebleness, hurry, and corifusion.] 

The Saco River has its rise near the Notch of the White 
Mountains, — a remarkable gap, through which it runs, and 
the only pass, for many miles, by which it is possible to cross 
from the eastern to the western side of the mountains. From 
this point, the Saco flows in a southerly and easterly direc- 
tion, for a distance of about thirty miles, between two high 
and almost perpendicular mountains. The channel between 
these mountains, widens from about twenty or thirty feet, at 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 91 

the gap, or western termination of the Notch, to four or five 
miles, at Conway, thirty miles below. 

For about two miles, through the part called the Notch, 
there is a continual descent of considerable rapidity ; and 
here the base of the mountain comes very near to the river ; 
leaving but little room for the road, which follows its course, 
and frequently crosses it. In this distance, it receives, from 
the steep mountains, several tributary streams, which form 
beautiful cascades of great height. 

We iearn from a friend, who visited the mountains in the 
period of the rains which preceded the slide, that these 
streams were swollen to a very unusual extent, and that the 
great masses of water, falling over those immense heights, 
presented a most beautiful spectacle, and a very ample com- 
pensation for the loss of the prospect from the top of the 
mountain, which was constantly enveloped in clouds. 

The Saco, at length, so far overflowed its banks, that, at 
Freyeburg, the town below Conway, great quantities of corn, 
potatoes, meadow-hay, and fences, were destroyed, and some 
cattle drowned. At Conway and Bartlett, the loss was still 
more severe, in the destruction of crops, mills, and bridges. 
On ascending the river farther, every thing seemed to have 
been destroyed. At Crawford's, eight miles from the Gap, 
the water rose two feet into his house, — some distance from 
the river ; and his farm was either destroyed or covered up. 

But the most melancholy disaster was in the destruction of 
the family of Mr. Wylley, who lived in what was called the 
Notch House, at the eastern termination of the Notch, where 
the mountain, on each side of the river, is about three thou- 
sand feet in height. A part of the mountain slipped from its 
resting-place, and fell into the road and river, tilling them 
up, for a distance of about a mile south of the house; and 
the beautiful little meadow opposite the house became a pond. 
Il so happened, that, although the barn was carried away, 
and two horses were killed, the house remained untouched. 
The rocks passed about six feet from it. Unfortunately, the 
family fled from their beds, and from the house, and were 
overwhelmed in the mass of earth and rocks. Their clothes 
were found as they left them on going to bed. 

The family consisted of Mr. Wylley, his wife, five children, 
and two hired men. They had recently removed thither 
from Freyeburg, and were amiable, obliging people, much 
respected by their neighbours, and commended for their neat- 
ness and obliging disposition, by travellers who visited their 



92 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

house. The bodies of some of the family, were found at the 
distance of about sixty rods from the house, dreadfully man- 
gled. It is supposed that this disaster happened at about 
eleven o'clock, at night. The house was six miles distant 
from any other human habitation ; and the road, in both 
directions, is overhung by the mountains, and was, at the 
time, probably, overflowed with water. 



EXERCISE XXXV. 

THE MOUNTAIN SLIDE. Louisa P. Smith. 

[The reading of this piece requires attention principally to the 
changes of tone which express the changes of feeling, — from 
awe and grief, in thefrst stanza, to cheerfulness, and then to solem- 
nity, in the second, and from solemnity to awe, in the third.] 

From its mountain home, with ruin fraught, 

It swept in terror by ; 
And the sweeping breeze that passed it, caught 

A fearful human cry. 
Oh ! many a living bosom 

With sorrow has it filled ; 
And many a worn heart's agony 

Its mighty crush has stilled. 
And pleasant thoughts of childhood, 

In bosoms light and gay, 
That were never dreaming aught of ill, 

Its voice has swept away. 

A peasant-home, in the vale below, 

Was gay at even-time, 
In the pleasant light of the hearth's red glow, 

And happy laughter's chime ; 
And bosoms there were glowing 

Beneath its humble wall, 
Light with the thoughts of labour done, 

And rest at even-fall. 
They recked not of the coming 

Of sorrow o'er their mirth, — 
That smiles so sweetly shed around, 

Were all for them on earth. 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 



The tempest comes to all ; 

And o'er them was its wrath ; 
But it did not sweep them one by one 

From off their earthly path, 

Leaving some hearts to sorrow 

O'er dust in silence bound : 
They are gone, in strength and beauty ally 

And one dim rest have found ! 



EXERCISE XXXVI. 

THE WORM'S DEATH SONG. F. S. Key. 

Oh ! let me alone, — I've a w T ork to be done 
That can brook not a moment's delay ; 

While yet I breathe, I must spin and weave, 
And may rest not night or day. 

Food and sleep I may never know, 

Till my blessed work be done ; 
Then my rest shall be sweet, in the winding-sheet, 

That around me I have spun. 

I have been a base and grovelling thing, 
And the dust of the earth, my home ; 

But now I know, that the end of my woe 
And the day of my bliss is come. 

In the shroud I make, this creeping frame 

Shall peacefully die away ; 
But its death shall be new life to me, 

In the midst of its perished clay. 

I shall wake, I shall wake, — a glorious form 

Of brightness and beauty to wear ; 
I shall burst from the gloom of my opening tomb, 

And breathe in the balmy air. 

I shall spread my new wings to the morning sun ; 

On the summer's breath I'll live ; 
I will bathe me where, in the dewy air, 

The flowers their sweetness give. 



94 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

I will not touch the dusty earth, — 
I will spring to the brightening sky ; 

And free as the breeze, wherever I please, 
On joyous wings I'll fly. 

And wherever I go, timid mortals may know, 
That like me from the tomb they shall rise : 

To the dead shall be given, by signal from heaven, 
A new life and new home in the skies. 

Then let them like me make ready their shrouds, 

Nor shrink from the mortal strife ; 
And like me they shall sing, as to heaven they spring, 

Death is not the end of life. 



EXERCISE XXXVII. 

THE FOUR SISTERS. Mrs. Barbauld. 

[An example of lively narrative, and well-marked emphasis ; every 
emphatic word or phrase being intended to suggest a special 
meaning.] 

I am one of four sisters ; and having some reason to think 
myself not well used, either by them or by the world, I beg 
to lay before you a sketch of our history and characters. 
You will not wonder there should be frequent bickerings 
amongst us, when I tell you that in our infancy we were con- 
tinually fighting ; and so great were the noise, and din, and 
confusion, in our continual struggles to get uppermost, that it 
was impossible for any body to live amongst us, in such a 
scene of tumult and disorder. These brawls, however, by a 
powerful interposition, were put an end to; our proper place 
was assigned to each of us ; and we had strict orders not to 
encroach on the limits of each other's property, but to join 
our common offices for the good of the whole family. 

My first sister, (I call her the first, because we have gen- 
erally allowed her the precedence in rank,) is, I must ac- 
knowledge, of a very active, sprightly disposition ; quick and 
lively, and has more brilliancy than any of us. But she is 
hot : every thing serves for fuel to her fury, when it is once 



YOUNG ladies' reader. 95 

raised to a certain degree ; and she is so mischievous when- 
ever she gets the upperhand, that, notwithstanding her as- 
piring disposition, — if I may freely speak my mind, — she is 
calculated to make a good servant, but a very bad mistress. 

I am almost ashamed to mention, that, notwithstanding her 
seeming delicacy, she has a most voracious appetite, and de- 
vours every thing that comes in her way ; though, like other 
eager, thin people, she does no credit to her keeping. Many 
a time has she consumed the product of my barns and store- 
houses ; but it is all lost upon her. She has even been known 
to get into an oil-shop, or tallow-chandler's, when every body 
was asleep, and lick up, with the utmost greediness, whatever 
she found there. Indeed, all prudent people are aware of her 
tricks ; and though she is admitted into the best families, they 
take care to watch her very narrowly. 

I should not forget to mention, that my sister was once in a 
country where she was treated with uncommon respect : she 
was lodged in a sumptuous building, and had a number of 
young women, of the best families, to attend on her, and feed 
her, and watch over her health. In short, she was looked upon 
as something more than a common mortal. But she always 
behaved with great severity to her maids ; and, if any of them 
were negligent of their duty, or made a slip in their own 
conduct, nothing would serve her but burying the poor girls 
alive. 

I have myself had some dark hints and intimations from the 
most respectable authority, that she will, some time or other, 
make an end of me. You need not wonder, therefore, if I 
am jealous of her motions. 

The next sister I shall mention to you, has so far the ap- 
pearance of modesty and humility, that she generally seeks the 
lowest place. She is indeed of a very yielding, easy temper, 
— generally cool, and often wears a sweet, placid smile upon 
her countenance ; but she is easily ruffled, and when worked 
up, as she often is, by another sister, whom I shall mention to 
you by and by, she becomes a perfect fury. Indeed, she is so 
apt to swell with sudden gusts of passion, that she is suspected 
at times to be a little lunatic. Between her and my first-men- 
tioned sister, there is more settled antipathy than between the 
Theban pair ; and they never meet without making efforts to 
destroy one another. With me she is always ready to form 
the most intimate union ; but it is not always to my advantage. 
There goes a story in our family, that, when we were all young, 
she once attempted to drown me. She actually kept me under 



96 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

a considerable time ; and though, at length, I got my head 
above water, my constitution is generally thought to have been 
essentially injured by it, ever since. From that time, she has 
made no such atrocious attempt ; but she is continually making 
encroachments upon my property ; and, even when she appears 
most gentle, she is very insidious, and has such an undermin- 
ing way with her, that her insinuating arts are as much to be 
dreaded as open violence. I might, indeed, remonstrate ; but 
it is a known part of her character, that nothing makes any 
lasting impression upon her. 

As to my third sister, I have already mentioned the ill 
offices she does me with my last-mentioned one, who is en- 
tirely under her influence. She is, besides, of a very uncer- 
tain, variable temper, sometimes hot, and sometimes cold : 
nobody knows where to have her. Her lightness is even pro- 
verbial ; and she has nothing to give those who live with her 
more substantial than the smiles of courtiers. I must add, 
that she keeps in her service three or four rough, blustering 
bullies, with puffed cheeks, who, when they are let loose, 
think they have nothing to do but to drive the world .before 
them. She sometimes joins with my first sister; and their 
violence occasionally throws me into such a trembling, that, 
though naturally of a firm constitution, I shake as if I was in 
an ague fit. 

As to myself, I am of a steady, solid temper ; not shining 
indeed, but kind and liberal, quite a Lady Bountiful. Every 
one tastes of my beneficence ; and I am of so grateful a dis- 
position, that I have been known to return a hundred-fold 
for any present that has been made me. I feed and clothe all 
my children, and afford a welcome home to the wretch who 
has no other home. I bear, with unrepining patience, all 
manner of ill usage : I am trampled upon, I am torn and 
wounded with the most cutting strokes ; I am pillaged of the 
treasures hidden in my most secret chambers ; notwithstand- 
ing which, I am always ready to return good for evil, and am 
continually subservient to the pleasure or advantage of others ; 
yet, so ungrateful is the world, that, because I do not possess 
all the airiness and activity of my sisters, I am stigmatized as 
dull and heavy. Every sordid, miserly fellow is called, by 
way of derision, one of my children ; and, if a person, on 
entering a room, does but turn his eyes upon me, he is 
thought stupid and mean, and not fit for good company. I 
have the satisfaction, however, of finding that people always 
incline towards me as they grow older ; and that those who 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 97 

seemed proudly to disdain any affinity with me, are content to 
sink, at last, into my bosom. 

You will probably wish to have some account of my person. 
I am not a regular beauty : some of my features are rather 
harsh and prominent, when viewed separately ; but my counte- 
nance has so much variety of expression, and so many different 
attitudes of elegance, that those who study my face with atten- 
tion, find out continually new charms; and though I have 
been so long a mother, I have still a surprising air of youth 
and freshness, which is assisted by all the advantages of well- 
chosen ornament ; for I dress well, and always according to the 
season. 



EXERCISE XXXVIII. 
GOOD TEMPER. ZRss Lamb. 

In whatsoever place resides 

Good Temper, she o'er all presides ; 

The most obdurate * heart she guides. 

Even Anger yields unto her power, 
And sullen Spite forgets to lower, 
Or, reconciled, weeps a shower. 

Reserve she softens into Ease, 
Makes Fretfulness leave oif to tease ; 
She Waywardness itself can please. 

Her handmaids they are not a few ; — 

Sincerity that's ever true, 

And prompt Obedience always new, 

Urbanity that ever smiles, 

And Frankness that ne'er useth wiles, 

And Friendliness that ne'er beguiles, 

And Firmness that is always ready 

To make young good resolves more steady, ■ 

The only safeguard of the giddy ; 

Accented, obdu'rate, for the effect of metre. 
9 



98 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

And blushing Modesty, and sweet 

Humility, in fashion neat : 

Yet still her train is incomplete, 

Unless meek Piety attend 

Good Temper, as her surest friend, 

Abiding with her to the end. 



EXERCISE XXXIX. 

MARGARET DAVIDSON. Washington Irving. 

When permitted, for a short interval, to renew her studies, 
which the state of her health had, at one time, interrupted, she 
was soon all cheerfulness and enjoyment. Her pen and her 
pencil were frequently in her hand ; she occupied herself also 
with her needle, in embroidery on canvass, and other fancy 
work. Hope brightened, with the exhilaration of her spirits. 
" I now walk and ride, eat and sleep as usual/ 5 she observes, 
in a letter to a young friend, " and although not well, have 
strong hopes that the opening spring, which renovates the 
flowers, and fields, and streams, will revive my enfeebled frame, 
and restore me to my wonted health." 

In these moods, she was the life of the domestic circle ; and 
these moods were frequent and long. And here we should 
observe, that though these memoirs, which are furnished prin- 
cipally from the recollections of an afflicted mother, may too 
often represent this gifted little being as a feeble invalid, 
struggling with mortality, yet in truth her life, though a brief, 
was a bright and happy one. 

At times, she was full of playful and innocent gayety ; at 
others, of intense mental exaltation ; and it was the very inten- 
sity of her enjoyment, that made her -so often indulge in those 
poetic paroxysms, — if we may be allowed the expression, — 
which filled her mother with alarm. A few weeks of this 
intellectual excitement, were followed by another rupture of a 
blood-vessel in the lungs, and a long interval of extreme 
debility. 

The succeeding winter was one of vicissitude. She had 
several attacks of bleeding at the lungs, which evidently 
alarmed her at the time, though she said nothing, and en- 



YOUNG LADIES' READER, 99 

deavoured to repress all manifestation of her feelings. If taken 
suddenly, she instantly resorted to the sofa, and, by a strong 
effort, strove to suppress every emotion. With her eyes 
closed, her lips compressed, and her thin, pale hand resting in 
that of her anxious mother, she seemed to be waiting the 
issue. Not a murmur would escape her lips ; nor did she ever 
complain of pain. She would often say, by way of consolation, 
to her mother, " Mamma, I am highly favoured. I hardly 
know what is meant by pain. I am sure I never, to my recol- 
lection, have felt it." 

The moment she was able to sit up, after one of these 
alarming attacks, every vestige of a sick chamber must be 
removed. No medicine, no cap, no bed-gown, no loose 
wrapper must be in sight. Her beautiful dark hair must be 
parted on her broad, high forehead, her dress arranged with 
the same care and neatness, as when in perfect health. In- 
deed, she studied to banish from her appearance all that might 
remind her friends that her health was impaired, and, if pos- 
sible, to drive the idea from her own thoughts. Her reply to 
every inquiry about her health was, " Well, quite well ; or, at 
least, i" feel so, though mother continues to treat me as an 
invalid. True, I have a cold, attended by a cough, that is 
not willing to leave me ; but when the spring returns, with its 
mild air and sweet blossoms, I think this cough, which alarms 
mother so much, will leave me." 

She had, indeed, a strong desire to live ; and the cause of 
that desire is indicative of her character. With all her retiring 
modesty, she had an ardent desire for literary distinction. 
The example of her sister Lucretia was incessantly before 
her ; she was her leading star ; and her whole soul was bent 
to emulate her soarings into the pure regions of poetry. 



EXERCISE XL. 



EARTH, Margaret Davidson. 

Earth ! thou hast nought to satisfy 
The cravings of immortal mind ! 

Earth ! thou hast nothing pure and high, 
The soaring, struggling soul to bind. 



100 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Impatient of its long delay, 

The pinioned spirit fain would roam, 

And leave this crumbling house of clay, 
To seek, above, its own bright home ! 

The spirit, — 'tis a spark of light 

Struck from our God's eternal throne, 

Which pierces through these clouds of night, 
And longs to shine where once it shone ! 

Earth ! there will come an awful day, 
When thou shalt crumble into nought ; 

When thou shalt melt beneath that ray 

From whence thy splendours first were caught. 

Quenched in the glories of its God, 
Yon burning lamp shall then expire ; 

And flames, from heaven's own altar sent, 
Shall light the great funereal pyre. 

Yes, thou must die ! and yon pure depths 
Back from thy darkened brow shall roll ; 

But never can the tyrant death 
Arrest this feeble, trusting soul. 

When that great Voice, which formed thee first, 
Shall tell surrounding worlds thy doom, 

Then the pure soul, enchained by thee, 
Shall rise triumphant o'er thy tomb. 

Then on, still on, the unfettered mind 

Through realms of endless space shall fly ; 

No earth to dim, no chain to bind, 
Too pure to sin, too great to die. 

Earth ! thou hast nought to satisfy 
The cravings of immortal mind ! 

Earth ! thou hast nothing pure and high, 
The soaring, struggling soul to bind. 



YOUAG LADIES' READER. 101 



EXERCISE XLI. 



A Dramatic Sketch, from Mrs. Opie's " Illustrations of Lying." 

Scene I. — A party at breakfast, at Lady DelavaVs. Lady 
Delaval, Jemima Aldred, Lucy Denton, and other girls. 

Lady D. Well, I must say, that, for my own part, this 
scarf and these ribands do not please me. And so you think 
them pretty, — do you 1 

All the young people. Oh ! yes, — beautiful ! 

Lady D. But, surely, they do not become my olive, ill- 
looking complexion. 

All but Jemima. They are certainly very beautiful. But 
we cannot say we think them very becoming. 

Jemima. Now, I think the colour just as becoming, as it is 
brilliant. I do not know what dear Lady Delaval means by 
underrating her own clear complexion. 

Lady D. The less that is said about that the better, I 
believe. 

Lucy D. [Aside to Jemi?na.] A good lesson to you, 
Jemima, on sincerity. 

Jemima. [Aside to Lucy D.] Some people seem to me to 
need a lecture on rudeness. 

Lady D. Now, my young friends, as the weather is not 
inviting for an excursion, I shall be glad to have your aid in 
pinning up this turban which I have begun. I propose to 
cover it with silver tissue. 

Jemima. Oh ! how beautiful ! 

Lady D. On the whole, however, I think that will be too 
simple. 

Jemima. It does seem too plain, I think. 

Lady D. I will have this rainbow-tinted gauze. 

Jemima. Oh ! superb ! 

Lucy D. It seems to me too gaudy. 

All but Jemima. So I think. 

Jemima. I assure you I think it magnificent. What a rich 
effect ! 

Lucy D. If nothing ornamental is added to it, it may pass, 
perhaps, without much objection. But not otherwise. 

Lady D. Now let me recommend some rich accompani- 
9* 



102 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

ments, — these coloured stones, this gold band, that green 
spun-glass feather, and this scarlet one. 

Jemima. Oh ! that would be superb ! 

Lucy D. [Aside to Jemima.] How can you say so? 
What a tawdry mass the whole will be ! 

Jemima. [Aside to Lucy D.] Politeness, I should think, 
would teach people always to approve their friends' tastes. 

Lucy D. [Aside to Jemima.'] Sincerity ought to teach us 
to say nothing that we do not feel to be true. For my part, 
I do not understand Lady Delaval to-day. 

Lady D. Now it is finished, let me have your judgment on 
it. I will put it on. 

All but Jemima. Oh ! it is not at all becoming. 

Lady D. What do you think, Jemima I 

Jemima. I think it is very becoming. I never saw you, 
Lady Delaval, wear any thing in which you looked so well, 
although you always look well in any thing. But that lovely 
turban would become any one. 

Lady D. Try how it would fit you, Jemima. 

All but Jemima. Ha ! ha ! ha ! How grotesque ! how 
ridiculous ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Jemima. [Looking in the glass.] Now, I insist on it that it 
is beautiful, — superb. I think it becomes me very much. 
How I should like to wear it abroad ! Do let me wear it, dear 
Lady Delaval, the rest of the morning ! 

Lady D. But it is so heavy, it will oppress you. 

Jemima. Not at all, I assure you. Do let me wear it. 

All. What a frightful spectacle you make ! 

Lady D. Young ladies, either you or Jemima must be 
greatly wanting in taste or eyes. — But the weather is now 
fine. Let us walk out awhile. 

Scene II. — Jemima at home, with her mother. [Enter a 
servant with a note, and a bandbox.] Jemima opens and 
reads the note. 

" Dear Jemima, 

" As I know that you have long wished to visit my 
niece, Lady Ormsby, and also to attend the astronomical lec- 
ture on the grand transparent orrery, which is to be given at 
the public rooms, this evening, for the Infirmary ; though your 
praiseworthy prudence prevented you from subscribing to it ; I 
have great pleasure in enclosing you a ticket for the lecture, 
and in informing you that I will call, and take you to dinner at 
Lady Ormsby 5 s, at four o'clock, whence you and I, and the 



YOUJSG LADIES' READER. 103 

rest of the party, (which will be a splendid one,) shall adjourn 
to the lecture." — 

How kind ! how very kind ! O mamma ! how fortunate it 
was that I made up my dyed gauze when I did ! and I can 
wear natural flowers in my hair : they are so becoming, as well 
as cheap. — 

Reads : " But I shall take you to the dinner, and I give you 
the ticket for the lecture, only on condition, — that you wear 
the accompanying turban, which was decorated according to 
your taste and judgment, and in which you were conscious of 
looking so well ! — Every additional ornament w T as bestowed 
to please you ; and as I know that your wish will be not to 
deprive me of a headdress in which your partial eyes thought 
that I looked so charmingly, I positively assure you that no 
consideration shall ever induce me to wear it ; and that I ex- 
pect you to meet my summons, arrayed in your youthful love- 
liness and my turban." — Look at that odious thing ! [pointing 
to the turban.] 

Mother. Why, to be sure, Jemima, Lady Delaval must 
be making game of you. What could cause such an absurd 
requisition ? 

Jemima. What ! expect me to hide my pretty hair under 
that preposterous mountain ? Never, never ! To be sure, 
Captain Leslie and George Vaux will dine at Lady Ormsby's, 
and go to the lecture ; but then they will not bear to look at 
me in this frightful headdress, and will so quiz me ; and I am 
sure they will think me too great a quiz to sit by ! No, no ; 
much as I wish to go, — and I do very, very much wish it, — 
I cannot go on these cruel conditions ! 

Mother. But what excuse can you make to Lady Delaval 1 

Jemima. I must tell her that I have a bad toothache, and 
cannot go ; and I will write her a note to say so ; and, at the 
same time, return the ugly, detestable turban. 

Scene III. — Jemima at home, with her mother. 

Jemima, [looking out.] There is Lady Delaval stepping out 
of her carriage, and the servant is taking out a bandbox. 
O dear ! mamma, I protest that ridiculous old woman has 
brought her ugly turban back again ! [Jemima's mother leaves 
the room.] 

Lady D. [entering.] I was sorry to find that you were not 
able to accompany me to the dinner and lecture, Jemima ; and 
were kept at home by the toothache. Was that your only 
reason for staying at home ? 



104 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Jemima. Certainly, madam : can you doubt it 1 

Lady D. Yes; for I have a strong suspicion that the 
toothache is a pretence, not a reality. 

Jemima. This from you, Lady Del aval ! my once kind 
friend. 

Lady D. Jemima, I am come to prove myself a far kinder 
friend than ever I did before. I am glad to find you alone ; 
because I should not have liked to reprove a child before 
her mother. I wished to speak plainly with you of the mean 
habit of flattery, in which you are so apt to indulge : I was, for 
one moment, a dupe, as regards the turban, and insisted on your 
wearing it, in order to punish your duplicity. Had you not 
acted thus, I meant to have taken you to the dinner and lec- 
ture, without conditions ; but I wished to inflict on you a sal- 
utary punishment, in hopes of convincing you that there are 
no qualities so safe, or so pleasing, as truth and ingenuous- 
ness. — I saw you cast an alarmed look at the hat-box ; but fear 
not : the turban is no more ; and, in its stead, I have taken the 
liberty of bringing you a Leghorn bonnet ; and should you, 
while you wear it, feel any desire to flatter, let it remind you 
of this conversation, and its cause, — and make your present 
mortification the means of your future good. 



EXERCISE XLII. 

THE FATHER'S CHOICE. Mrs. S. J. Hale. 

In the year 1697, a body of Indians attacked the town of Haver- 
hill, Mass., and killed, or carried into captivity, forty of the inhabitants. 
A party of the Indians approached the house of Mr. Thurston, who 
was abroad at his labour, but who, on their approach, hastened to the 
house, sent his children out, and ordered them to flee, in a course 
opposite to that in which danger was approaching. He then mounted 
his horse, and determined to snatch up — when he should overtake 
the little flock — the child with which he was most unwilling to part. 

When he came up to them, about two hundred yards from his 
house, he was unable to make a choice, or to leave any one of the 
number. He therefore determined to take his lot with them, and 
defend them from their murderers, or die by their side. A body of 
the Indians pursued, and came up with him ; and, when at a short 
distance, fired on him and his little company. He returned the fire, 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 105 

and retreated, alternately ; still, however, keeping a resolute face to 
the enemy, and so effectually sheltered his charge, that he finally 
lodged them all, safe, in a distant house. 

" Now fly, as flies the rushing wind, — 

Urge, urge thy lagging steed ! 
The savage yell is fierce behind ; 

And life is on thy speed. 

" And from those dear ones make thy choice : " — 

The group he wildly eyed, 
When " Father ! " burst from every voice, 

And " Child ! " his heart replied. 

There's one that now can share his toil, 

And one he meant for fame, 
And one that wears her mother's smile, 

And one that bears her name. 

And one will prattle on his knee, 

Or slumber on his breast; 
And one whose joys of infancy 

Are still by smiles expressed. 

They feel no fear while he is near ; 

He'll shield them from the foe ; 
But oh ! his heart must break to hear 

Their shriekings, should he go. 

In vain his quivering lips would speak ; 

No words his thoughts allow ; 
The burning tear is on his cheek, 

Death's marble on his brow. 

And twice he raised his cold, clinched hand, — 

Then bade his children fly ! 
And turned ; — and even that savage band 

Cowered at his wrathful eye. 

Swift as the lightning winged with death, 
Flashed forth the quivering flame ! — 

Their fiercest warrior bows beneath 
The father's deadly aim. 



106 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Not the wild cries, that rend the skies, 
His heart or purpose move : — 

He saves his children, — or he dies, 
The sacrifice of love. 

Ambition goads the conqueror on, — 
Hate points the murderer's brand ; — 

But love and duty, these alone 
Can nerve the good man's hand. 

The hero may resign the field, 

The coward murderer flee : 
He cannot fear, he will not yield, 

That strikes, sweet Love, for thee. 

They come, they come ; — he heeds no cry, 

Save the soft childlike wail : 
" O father, save! " — " My children, fly ! " 

Were mingled on the gale. 

And firmer still he drew his breath, 

And sterner flashed his eye, 
As fast he hurls the leaden death, 

Still shouting, " Children, fly ! " 

No shadow on his brow appeared, 

Nor tremor shook his frame, 
Save when, at intervals, he heard 

Some trembler lisp his name. 

In vain the foe, those fiends unchained, 
Like famished tigers chafe : — 

The sheltering roof is neared, is gained, — 
All, all the dear ones safe ! 



EXERCISE XLIII. 

EFFECTS OF A FLOOD. Mrs. Sigourney. 

It was one of those fine mornings in which a softer season 
makes its first effectual resistance against the lingering claims 
of winter ; like a buxom infant, springing from the arms of a 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 107 

wrinkled dame, whose caresses chill it. Still the influence of 
the "sire of storms 5 ' was perceptible. The small streams 
moved but torpidly, between margins of ice, or beneath a thin 
veil, which might have hidden their progress ; had it not been 
revealed by a cold, subterranean murmuring. 

Over the larger rivers, small boats were seen gliding, while 
their cheerful navigators repelled, with long poles, those 
masses of ice which assayed too near an approach ; or, sup- 
porting themselves on the slippery surface, collected the drift- 
wood which adhered to them. Other labourers were busily 
employed in replacing bridges, which the sullen waters had 
injured or destroyed ; for seldom did the spring-tide floods pass 
the town, but the faces of the inhabitants gathered gloom from 
the prospect of an additional weight of taxation. 

While the solitary amateur admired the wrath of the re- 
sounding streams, the richer and less romantic burgher would 
calculate the cost, like Marlow in the well-furnished inn, ap- 
prehending " how horribly a fine sideboard and a marble 
chimney-piece would swell the reckoning." But the la- 
bourers, who had nothing to pay, and foresaw gain from being 
employed about broken bridges, and dilapidated fences, con- 
tented themselves with lamenting, in a less rueful tone, the 
evils of their almost insular situation. 

Considerable loss and suffering had frequently been sus- 
tained, in the southern extreme of the town, which occupied 
the ground at the junction of the two principal rivers. These 
waters, when swollen by dissolving snows, and the increased 
revenue of their tributaries, came rushing down with great 
power. Inundated streets, merchants lamenting the loss of 
their goods, and sometimes of the warehouses which contained 
them ; or millers gazing, with uplifted hands, after their float- 
ing fabrics, attested the ravages of the triumphant flood. Here 
and there, the sharp eaves of a fisherman's hut, or the upper 
story of some building of larger dimensions, would rise above 
the encompassing element ; while the boats, employed to take 
from their windows the sick, encountered continual obstacles 
from trees partly immersed, and fences, planted like chevaux 
defrise, beneath the treacherous waters. 

Occasionally, a bridge from some neighbouring town, has 
been borne along, a reluctant visitor. In one instance, a 
structure of this sort glided by, displaying in unbroken majesty 
a toll-gate, upon whose topmost bar a red-winged tenant of the 
barn-yard was perched. Having evinced his fidelity to his 
favorite roost, by adhering to it during all the shocks of its 



108 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

midnight disruption, morn beheld the undaunted bird, clapping 
his wings, as he passed the town, and sending forth shrill notes 
of triumph, from excitement at his extraordinary voyage of 
discovery. 

Once, an infant, in his cradle-ark, suddenly washed from 
the cabin of his slumbering parents, glided over the bosom of 
the pitiless surge. He was rescued, — not by the daughter of 
Pharaoh and her maidens, but by the father, urging on his 
light boat with eager strokes, while the mother, not standing 
" among the flags by the river's brink," but wading uncon- 
sciously into the cold, slippery channel, received, with ex- 
tended arms, the babe, smiling as he awoke. 



EXERCISE XLIV. 

MORNING TWILIGHT. J. G. Pertival. 

The mountains are blue in the morning air, 

And the woods are sparkling with dewy light ; 
The winds, as they wind through the hollows, bear 

The breath of the blossoms that wake by night. 
Wide o'er the bending meadows roll 

The mists, like a lightly-moving sea ; — 
The sun is not risen ; and over the whole 

There hovers a silent mystery. 

The pure blue sky is in calm repose ; 

The pillowy clouds are sleeping there ; 
So stilly the brook in its covert flows, 

You would think its murmur a breath of air. 
The water that floats in the glassy pool, 

Half hid by the willows that line its brink, 
In its deep recess has a look so cool, 

One would worship its nymph, as he bent to drink. 

Pure and beautiful thoughts, at this early hour, 

Go off to the home of the bright and blessed ; 
They steal on the heart with an unseen power, 

And its passionate throbbings are laid at rest : 
Oh ! who would not catch, from the quiet sky, 

And the mountains that soar in the hazy air, — 
When his harbinger tells that the sun is high, — 

The visions of bliss that are floating there? 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 109 

^ EXERCISE XLV. 

VIRTUE. George Herbert. 

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, — 

The bridal of the earth and sky, — 
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night : 
For thou must die. 

Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, 

Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, 
Thy root is ever in its grave ; 
And thou must die. 

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, 

A box where sweets compacted lie, 
Thy music shows ye have your closes, 
And all must die. 

Only a sweet and virtuous soul, 

Like seasoned timber, never gives ; 
But though the whole world turn to coal, 
Then chiefly lives. 



EXERCISE XLVI. 

TRUE MAGICIANS, A DREAM. Mrs. Barbauld. 

I thought I had been travelling through an unknown 
country, and came, at last, to a thick wood, cut out into sev- 
eral groves and avenues, the gloom of which inspired thought- 
fulness ; and a certain mysterious dread of unknown powers, 
came upon me. I entered, however, one of the avenues, and 
found it terminated in a magnificent portal, through which I 
could discern confusedly, among thick foliage, cloistered 
arches and Grecian porticoes, and people walking and con- 
versing amongst the trees. Over the portal was the following 
inscription : " Here dwell the true magicians. Nature is 
our servant. Man is our pupil. JVe change, ice conquer, we 
create." 

10 



110 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

As I was hesitating whether I should presume to enter, a 
pilgrim, who was sitting under the shade, offered to be my 
guide; assuring me that these magicians would do me no 
harm, and that, so far from having any objection to be ob- 
served in their operations, they were pleased with any opportu- 
nity of exhibiting them to the curious. In therefore I went, 
and addressed the first of the magicians I met with, who 
asked me whether I liked panoramas. On replying that I 
thought them very entertaining, she took me to a little emi- 
nence, and bade me look round, I did so, and beheld the 
representation of the beautiful vale of Dorking, with Norbury 
Park and Box Hill to the north, Ryegate to the east, and Leith 
Tower, with the Surry Hills, to the south. 

After I had admired, for some time, the beauty and accu- 
racy of the painting, a vast curtain seemed to be drawn grad- 
ually up ; and my view extended on all sides. On one hand, 
I traced the windings of the Thames, up to Oxford, and 
stretched my eye westward over Salisbury Plain, and across the 
Bristol Channel into the romantic country of South Wales : 
northward, the view extended to Lincoln Cathedral, and York 
Minster, towering over the rest of the churches. Across the 
Sussex Downs I had a clear view of the British Channel, and 
the opposite coast of France, with its ports blockaded by our 
fleets. As the horizon of the panorama still extended, I 
spied the towers of Notre Dame, and the Tuilleries ; and my 
eye wandered at large over " the vine-covered hills and gay 
regions of France," quite down to the source of the Loire. 
At the same time, the great Atlantic Ocean opened to my 
view ; and, on the other hand, I saw the Lake of Geneva, 
and the dark ridge of Mount Jura, and discovered the sum- 
mits of the Alps, covered with snow, and beyond, the orange 
groves of Italy, the majestic dome of St. Peter's, and the 
smoking crater of Vesuvius. 

As the curtain still rose, I stretched my view over the 
Mediterranean, the scene of ancient glory, the Archipelago, 
studded with islands, the shores of the Bosphorus, and the 
gilded minarets and cypress groves of Constantinople. Throw- 
ing back a look to the less attractive north, I saw pictured 
the rugged, broken coast of Norway, the cheerless moors of 
Lapland, and the interminable desolation of the plains of 
Siberia. Turning my eye again southward, the landscape 
extended to the plains of Barbary, covered with date-trees ; 
and I discerned the points of pyramids, appearing above the 
horizon, and saw the Delta, and the seven-mouthed Nile. 



rouNG ladies' reader. ill 

111 short, the curtain still rose; and the view extended 
farther and farther, till the panorama took in the whole globe. 
I cannot express to you the pleasure I felt as I saw moun- 
tains, seas, and islands, spread out before me. Sometimes 
my eye wandered over the vast plains of Tartary; sometimes 
it expatiated in the savannas of America. I saw men with 
dark skins, white cotton turbans wreathed about their 
heads, and long flowing robes of silk ; others almost naked 
under a vertical sun. I saw whales sporting in the northern 
seas, and elephants trampling amidst fields of maize and 
forests of palm-trees. I seemed to have " put a girdle about 
the earth," and was gratified with an infinite variety of ob- 
jects which I thought I never could be weary of contemplat- 
ing. At length, turning towards the magician who had en- 
tertained me with such an agreeable exhibition, and asking 
her name, she informed me it was Geography. 

My attention was next arrested by a sorceress, who, I was 
told, possessed the power of calling up from the dead whom- 
soever she pleased, man or woman, in their proper habits 
and figures, and obliging them to converse and answer ques- 
tions. She held a roll of parchment in her hand, and had an 
air of great dignity. I confess that I felt a little afraid ; but 
having been somewhat encouraged by the former exhibition, 
I ventured to ask her to give me a specimen of her power, in 
case there was nothing unlawful in it. " Whom," said she, 
" do you wish to behold ? " After considering some time, I 
desired to see Cicero, the Roman orator. She made some 
talismanic figures on the sand ; and presently he rose to my 
view, his neck and head bare, the rest of his body in a flow- 
ing toga, which he gathered round him with one hand, and 
stretching out the other very gracefully, he recited to me one 
of his orations against Catiline. He also read to me, — 
which was more than I could in reason have expected, — 
several of his familiar letters to his most intimate friends. 

I next desired that Julius Caesar might be called up : on 
which he approached, his hair nicely arranged, and the fore- 
part of his head, which was bald, covered with wreaths of 
laurel ; and he very obligingly gave me a particular account 
of his expedition into Gaul. I wished to see the youth of 
Macedon, but was a little disappointed in his figure, for he 
was low in stature, and held his head awry ; but I saw him 
manage Bucephalus with admirable courage and address, and 
was afterwards introduced with him into the tent of Darius, 
where I was greatly pleased with the generosity and polite- 
ness of his behaviour. 



112 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

I afterwards expressed some curiosity to see a battle, if I 
might do it with safety, and was gratified with the sea-fight 
of Actium. I saw, after the first onset, the galleys of Cle- 
opatra turning their prows, and flying from the battle, and 
Antony, — to his eternal shame, — quitting the engagement, 
and making sail after her. 

I then wished to call up the kings of England ; and they 
appeared in order, one after the other, with their crowns and 
the insignia of their dignity, and walked over the stage, for 
my amusement, — much like the descendants of Banquo in 
Macbeth. Their queens accompanied them, trailing their 
robes upon the ground, and the bishops with their mitres, 
and judges, and generals, and eminent persons of every class. 
I asked many questions as they passed, and received a great 
deal of information relative to the laws, manners, and trans- 
actions of past times. I did not, however, always meet with 
direct answers to my questions. For instance, when I called 
up Homer, and after some other conversation asked him 
where he was born, he only said, " Guess ! " And when I 
asked Louis the Fourteenth, Who was the man in the iron 
mask, he frowned, and would not tell me. 

I took a great deal of pleasure in calling up the shades of 
distinguished people, in different ages and countries ; making 
them stand close by one another, and comparing their man- 
ners and costume. Thus I measured Catharine of Russia 
against Semiramis, and Aristotle against Lord Bacon. I 
could have spent whole years in conversation with so many 
celebrated persons, and promised myself that I would often 
frequent this obliging magician. Her name, I found, was, 
in heaven, Clio, — on earth, History. 



EXERCISE XLVII. 

THE COMETHS FLIGHT. Miss Day. 

It happened, one morn, that a straggling ray, 
From the solar system lost its way, 

And it came to a Comet's den ; — 
And it roused him up from his long, long sleep ; 
And he sprang from his cavern in Chaos deep, 

To visit the Sun again. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 113 

So long had he lain in his dungeon cold, 
His joints felt exceedingly stiff and old ; 

And he scarce could move a limb ; — 
But, in spite of his sharp, rheumatic pain, 
He shook his limbs, and he combed iiis mane, 

And put himself soon in trim. 
Then, forth he sprang on the realms of Night : 
All Chaos stared at his crazy flight, 

And a terrible tumult made ; — 
And torrents of cloud, and flood, and flame, 
Up from her dark abysses came ; — 

But nothing the monster stayed. 
On, on he went, as the lightning fast, 
Till — the realms of destruction and darkness past — 

Glad was the Comet, then, 
For behind lay the kingdom of night and death ; 
And he saw the light, and he breathed the breath, 

Of the starry world again. 
That lovely world, with its bound of blue, 
Lay far and wide in the Comet's view, 

As he stayed in his course to gaze ; — 
And he hung, like one in a joyful trance, 
Watching the stars, in their mystic dance, 

Through many a glittering maze. 
By millions and millions, the orbs of light 
Solemnly moved in their courses bright ; 

And, from afar, to his ravished ears, 
Seemed, like a breeze, to swell and die, 
A clear and awful harmony, — 

'Twas the music of the spheres ! 
And gentle gales came floating there, 
Gales of the soft, ethereal air ; 

And, at their reviving breath, 
Down, down he plunged, in his heedless way ; 
And woe to all in his path that lay, 

In his fiery path of death ! 
By many a rolling star he flew, 
With her glittering seas, and her lands of blue; 

But in loneliness he fared, — 
For, with pallid beams, they shrank away, 
And hid themselves from his deadly ray, 

As he wildly on them glared. 
But once, too near to his fearful blaze, 
One tiny planet came forth to gaze, 
10* 



114 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

From her path of light afar ; — 
And the comet withered the waving trees, 
And blighted the lands, and dried the seas, 

Of the venturous little star. 
Swifter and swifter, the comet flew, — 
Brighter and brighter, his radiance grew, — 

When the glorious Sun was near ; 
But the planets wished him back again, 
And fast asleep in his midnight den ; 

For their orbs were thrilled with fear. 
Saturn called loudly each frightened moon, — 
And they gathered, for safety, behind him soon, 

And peeped through his ring of gold ; 
Jove drew his girdle around him tight, 
And called on Mars to prepare for fight; 

But the courage of Mars was cold. 
Soon he came near to the beautiful Earth, — 
Hushed were her murmurs of joy and mirth, 

When she saw that direful ray ; — 
And the pallid moon behind her fled, 
And covered with clouds her fainting head, 

And concealed in darkness lay. 
Venus in splendour he could not dim ; — 
Her eye of glory beamed on him, 

And where was his savage heart ? 
One glance of love he backward cast, 
And trimmed his beams as he onward passed ; 

And in sadness did he depart. 
Mercury fled in dismay, at the sight ; 
The Comet laughed to behold his fright, 

And erected his mane of flame ; — 
But now, his fiery course was done, 
His long and trackless race was run ; 

For unto the sun he came. 
But, should I tell you the conference dire, 
That was held between those orbs of fire, 

Your every hair would rise ! 
So now, I descend to earth again, 
Ere the height has turned my giddy brain, 

Or the glory dimmed my eyes. 



iTOUNG LADIES' READER. 115 



EXERCISE XL VIII. 

RESPECT TO TEACHERS. Mrs. Farrar. 

The more enlightened our country becomes, and the more 
we are disencumbered of those false notions of gentility which 
we inherited from the land of our fathers, the more will those 
be honoured, and the better will they be paid, who make a 
business of teaching. In the fluctuating state of our society, 
persons will be so employed, for a short time, who afterwards 
fill high stations in the land ; whilst those, also, who have 
figured in the foremost ranks of life, will, at a later period, be 
found earning their living by teaching a language, or giving 
lessons in music. Well-educated foreigners, also, whose souls 
have been refined by suffering for conscience' sake, are often 
engaged in this mode of earning a living. This being the 
case, language and music masters do not form a class by 
themselves, as in the old countries of Europe ; they belong 
here to all well-educated circles, and should be treated with no 
less politeness, and a little more respect, than you show to 
other gentlemen of your acquaintance. 

When the office of teacher is filled by one of your own 
sex, all your kindest sympathies should be ^enlisted in her 
favour ; and you should endeavour, by every means in your 
power, to render her task agreeable, and to sustain her in that 
position in society to which her manners and acquirements 
entitle her. Nothing can be meaner than the false pride ex- 
hibited by some girls towards the ladies who give them lessons 
in music, drawing, or languages. Some have been known to 
pass their instructresses in the street, without acknowledging 
the acquaintance, even by a passing bow; others salute in 
passing, but would on no account invite the lady to their house 
as a guest ; and she, whose cultivation and refinement may far 
exceed those of her pupils, is considered by them of inferior 
rank, because she has added to her other merits, that of ren- 
dering herself independent, by the exercise of her talents. 

Now, all this is wrong, entirely wrong ; and, in this country, 
it has no meaning but one of excessive folly, in those who 
practise it. Where there are no hereditary distinctions, and 
no long-established division of society into castes or ranks, 
the only mode of classification is that of wealth, or individual 
merit, comprising refinement of manners and cultivation of 
mind. 



116 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

If wealth is to be the standard of gentility or importance, 
in a country where fortunes are often suddenly acquired by 
persons without any education, or any native refinement, and 
where the fluctuating nature of property often deprives those 
who have been the most luxuriously brought up, of the means 
of living, we may expect to see the grossest manners prevail, 
and civilization decline. But, much as riches are valued, 
there is an instinctive homage paid to mental culture and 
refined manners, beyond what wealth can command ; and 
those who pass by their female teacher in the street, without 
bowing to her, would yet hesitate to acknowledge they did so 
because she had fewer dollars at her disposal, than they had. 
They probably avoid all scrutiny of their motives, and try to 
make themselves believe there is a propriety in so doing, which 
cannot be easily explained. They are right, there. It cannot 
be explained on any principle of justice or sound reason. 

If a female teacher, of unblemished reputation, has a refined 
and cultivated mind ; if she has good manners, and the habits of 
society which belong to the circle in which she teaches ; what 
should hinder her being received into it on a footing of perfect 
equality ? Certainly not the simple circumstance of her turn- 
ing her talent to account in a community of shop-keepers and 
merchants, lawyers and doctors, bankers and manufacturers. 
Why should the lady who makes her living by imparting to 
others, one of her accomplishments, be less regarded than the 
man who gains his livelihood by selling goods or manufactur- 
ing them ? — and can there be any sense in the half-educated 
daughter of a lawyer or merchant, treating her more mature 
and more accomplished teacher as an inferior ? That such a 
thing can take place, in a republic like ours, shows how many 
generations it requires to remove the taint of aristocracy, de- 
rived from the mother country. It is to be hoped that the day 
of its utter extinction is at hand. 



EXERCISE XLIX. 

FORMATION OF A CORAL ISLAND. Montgomery. 

A point, at first, 
It peered above the waves, — a point so small, 
I just perceived it, fixed where all was floating; 
And when a bubble crossed it, the blue film 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 117 

Expanded like a sky above the speck : 

That speck became a hand-breadth ; — day and night 

It spread, accumulated, and, ere long, 

Presented to my view a dazzling plain, 

White as the moon amid the sapphire sea, — 

Bare at low water, and as still as death ; 

But when the tide came gurgling o'er the surface, 

'Twas like a resurrection of the dead : 

From graves innumerable, punctures fine 

In the close coral, capillary swarms 

Of reptiles, horrent as Medusa's snakes, 

Covered the bald-pate reef; then all was life, 

And indefatigable industry : 

The artisans were twisting to and fro, 

In idle-seeming convolutions ; yet 

They never vanished with the ebbing surge, 

Till pellicle on pellicle, and layer 

On layer, was added to the growing mass. — 

Ere long the reef o'ertopped the spring-flood's height, 

And mocked the billows, when they leaped upon it, 

Unable to maintain their slippery hold, 

And falling down in foam-wreaths round its verge. 

Compared with this amazing edifice, 
Raised by the weakest creatures in existence, 
What are the w r orks of intellectual man ? — 
Towers, temples, palaces, and sepulchres ; 
Ideal images in sculptured forms, 
Thoughts hewn in columns, or in domes expanded, 
Fancies through every maze of beauty shown ; 
Pride, gratitude, affection, turned to marble, 
In honour of the living or the dead ; 
What are they ? — fine-wrought miniatures of art, 
Too exquisite to bear the weight of dew, 
Which every morn lets fall in pearls upon them, 
Till all their pomp sinks down in mouldering relics, 
Yet in their ruin lovelier than their prime ! — 
Dust in the balance, atoms in the gale, 
Compared with these achievements in the deep, 
Were all the monuments of olden time, 
In days when there were giants on the earth. 
Babel's stupendous folly, though it aimed 
To scale heaven's battlements, was but a toy, 
The plaything of the world in infancy : — 
The ramparts, towers, and gates of Babylon, 



118 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Built for eternity, — though, where they stood, 

Ruin itself stands still for lack of work, 

And Desolation keeps unbroken Sabbath ; — 

Great Babylon, in its full moon of empire, 

Even when its " head of gold " was smitten off, 

And from a monarch changed into a brute ; — 

Great Babylon was like a wreath of sand, 

Left by one tide, and cancelled by the next : — 

Egypt's dread wonders, still defying Time, 

Where cities have been crumbled into sand, 

Scattered by winds beyond the Libyan desert, 

Or melted down into the mud of Nile, 

And cast in tillage o'er the corn-sown fields, 

Where Memphis flourished, and the Pharaohs reigned ; • 

Egypt's gray piles of hieroglyphic grandeur, 

That have survived the language which they speak, 

Preserving its dead emblems to the eye, 

Yet hiding from the mind what these reveal ; — 

Her pyramids would be mere pinnacles, 

Her giant statues, wrought from rocks of granite, 

But puny ornaments for such a pile 

As this stupendous mound of catacombs, 

Filled with dry mummies of the builder-worms ! 



EXERCISE L. 

THE CORAL INSECT. Mrs. Sigourney. 

Toil on ! toil on ! ye ephemeral train, 

Who build in the tossing and treacherous main ; 

Toil on, — for the wisdom of man ye mock, 

With your sand-based structures and domes of rock ; 

Your columns the fathomless fountains lave, 

And your arches spring up through the crested wave : 

Ye're a puny race, thus boldly to rear 

A fabric so vast, in a realm so drear ! 

Ye bind the deep with your secret zone, — 
The ocean is sealed, and the surge a stone ; 
Fresh wreaths from the coral pavements spring 
Like the terraced pride of Assyria's king ; 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 119 

The turf looks green where the breakers rolled, 
O'er the whirlpool ripens the rind of gold ; 
The sea-snatched isle is the home of men, 
And mountains exult where the wave hath been. 

But why do ye plant, 'neath the billows dark, 
The wrecking reef for the gallant bark ? 
There are snares enough on the tented field, 
'Mid the blossomed sweets that the valleys yield ; 
There are serpents to coil ere the flowers are up, 
There's a poison-drop in man's purest cup, 
There are foes that watch for his cradle breath ; 
And why need ye sow the floods with death ? 

With mouldering bones the deeps are white, 
From the ice-clad pole to the tropics bright ; 
The mermaid hath twisted her fingers cold, 
With the mesh of the sea-boy's curls of gold ; 
And the gods of ocean have frowned to see 
The mariner's bed 'mid their halls of glee. 
Hath earth no graves, that ye thus must spread 
The boundless sea with the thronging dead ? 

Ye build ! ye build ! but ye enter not in ; 

Like the tribes whom the desert devoured in their sin. 

From the land of promise ye fade and die, 

Ere its verdure gleams forth on your wearied eye, 

As the cloud-crowned pyramids' founders sleep, 

Noteless and lost in oblivion deep ; 

Ye slumber unmarked 'mid the desolate main, 

While the wonder and pride of your works remain. 



EXERCISE LI. 

EARTHQUAKE OF POINTE-A-PITRE, GUADALOUPE. 
H. H. Brecn. 

On the night preceding the earthquake, a grand ball had 
been given ; and many were still reposing from the fatigue of 
the festive scene. The Court of Assize had assembled for the 
administration of human justice : the principal hotel was 



1-20 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

thronged with strangers and planters from the interior, dis- 
cussing matters of business, or seated together at the table 
(Fhote ; and on the quays, and along the streets, trade and 
traffic were proceeding with their wonted bustle and activity. 

At the fatal hour of twenty-five minutes to eleven, there 
was heard a noise, — a hollow, rolling, rumbling noise, — as 
of distant unbroken thunder : the sea dashed tumultuously on 
the beach; the earth heaved convulsively, and opened in 
several places, emitting dense columns of water. In an 
instant, all the stone buildings had crumbled to the ground, — 
a wide-spread heap of rubbish and ruin ; and in that one in- 
stant, — a dread and destructive instant, — five thousand hu- 
man beings, torn from their families and friends, were ushered 
into eternity. 

But the work of destruction did not stop here : scarcely had 
the earthquake ceased its ravages, when a fire broke out, in 
several places at once ; and such were the terror and confusion 
of the surviving inhabitants, that not a single house was 
rescued from the flames. In another instant, the pile was 
lit up, the devouring element was sweeping over the immense 
holocaust ; and a loud and lugubrious shriek from the living, 
and a long and lingering groan from the dying, had told the 
tale and sealed the doom of Pointe-a-Pitre, the pride of the 
West ! 

The scenes of horror that followed, it would be difficult to 
describe. Fathers ran about in search of their children ; 
children screamed aloud for their mothers, — mothers for 
their husbands, — husbands for their wives ; and the wild and 
wailing multitude that wandered over the ruins, in search of a 
mother, a father, a husband, a child, a brother, a sister, or a 
friend, found nothing but headless trunks and severed limbs. 
Rich and poor, black and white, planter and peasant, master 
and slave, — all lay confounded in one vast sepulchre, — all 
were crushed, calcined, or consumed, — all hushed in the 
shadow of death, or the silence of despair. 

The night that succeeded, was a night of wretchedness and 
want, — of sorrow and suffering. Twelve thousand inhabit- 
ants, — without food, without raiment, without money, with- 
out means, without house, or home, or hope, — had sought 
refuge under temporary tents, erected in the open air. Who 
can depict, who can imagine, the visions of darkness and dan- 
ger that haunted these widowed thousands, walking over the 
remains of the departed city ? Three days did the devouring 
element, fed in its progress by a forest of projecting timbers, 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 121 

continue with unabated fury : three nights did the funeral pile 
send forth its lurid glare, — a beacon to mariners ; marking 
where Pointe-a-Pitre stood no more. 

On the following morning, the task of exploration began. — 
But to enable the workmen to proceed without danger, it be- 
came necessary to batter down several walls and portions of 
houses, whose scattered impending fragments threatened de- 
struction on all sides. In the space of one week, six thousand 
bodies were dug out of the ruins ; fifteen hundred of which 
were still living, but mostly in a deplorable state of mutilation. 
These were immediately removed to the town of Basse-terre, 
and placed under medical care ; yet, — sad to say, — not more 
than one third of them recovered. 



EXERCISE LIL 

GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. Campbell. 

Here were not mingled, in the city's pomp, 

Of life's extremes the grandeur and the gloom ; 
Judgment awoke not here her dismal trump, 

Nor sealed in blood a fellow-creature's doom ; 

Nor mourned the captive in a living tomb. 
One venerable man, beloved of all, 

Sufficed, where innocence was yet in bloom, 
To sway the strife, that seldom might befall ; 
And Albert was their judge in patriarchal hall. 

How reverend was the look, serenely aged, 

He bore, this gentle Pennsylvanian sire, 
Where all but kindly fervours were assuaged, 

Undimmed by weakness' shade, or turbid ire ! 

And though, amidst the calm of thought, entire, 
Some high and haughty features might betray 

A soul impetuous once, 'twas earthly fire 
That fled composure's intellectual ray, 
As ^Etna's fires grow dim before the rising day. 

I boast no song in magic wonders rife ; — 
But yet, O Nature ! is there nought to prize, 

Familiar in thy bosom scenes of life ? 

And dwells in daylight truth's salubrious skies 
11 



122 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

No form with which the soul may sympathize ? — 
Young, innocent, on whose sweet forehead mild 

The parted ringlet shone in sweetest guise, 
An inmate in the home of Albert smiled, 
Or blessed his noonday walk; — she was his only child. 

The rose of England bloomed on Gertrude's cheek : — 

What though these shades had seen her birth, her sire 
A Briton's independence taught to seek 

Far western worlds ; and there his household fire 

The light of social love did long inspire ; 
And many a halcyon day he lived to see, 

Unbroken but by one misfortune dire, 
When fate had reft his mutual heart : but she 
Was gone ; — and Gertrude climbed a widowed father's knee. 

A loved bequest ; — and I may half impart 

To them that feel the strong paternal tie, 
How like a new existence to his heart 

That living flower uprose beneath his eye, 

Dear as she was from cherub infancy, 
From hours when she would round his garden play, 

To time when, as the ripening years went by, 
Her lovely mind could culture well repay, 
And more engaging grew, from pleasing day to day. 

I may not paint those thousand infant charms ; 

(Unconscious fascination, undesigned !) 
The orison repeated in his arms, 

For God to bless her sire and all mankind ; 

The book, the bosom on his knee reclined ; 
Or how sweet fairy-lore he heard her con, 

(The playmate ere the teacher of her mind :) 
All uncompanioned else her heart had gone, 
Till now, in Gertrude's eyes, their ninth blue summer shone. 



EXERCISE Lin. 

A GUST. Dickens. 

The sun went down, beneath the long dark lines of hill 
and cloud, which piled up, in the west, an airy city, — wall 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 123 

heaped on wall, and battlement on battlement ; the light was 
all withdrawn ; the shining church turned cold and dark ; the 
stream forgot to smile ; the birds were silent ; and the gloom 
of winter dwelt on every thing. 

An evening wind uprose, too; and the slighter branches 
cracked and rattled, as they moved, in skeleton dances, to its 
moaning music. The withering leaves, no longer quiet, hur- 
ried to and fro, in search of shelter from its chill pursuit. 
The labourer unyoked his horses, and, with head bent down, 
trudged briskly home beside them ; and from cottage windows 
lights began to glance and wink upon the darkening fields. 

Then the village forge came out in all its bright importance. 
The lusty bellows roared " Ha, ha!" to the clear fire, which 
roared in turn, and bade the shining sparks dance gayly to the 
merry clinking of the hammers on the anvil. The gleaming 
iron, in its emulation, sparkled too, and shed its red-hot gems 
around profusely. The strong smith and his men dealt such 
strokes upon their work, as made even the melancholy night 
rejoice, and brought a glow into its dark face, as it hovered 
about the door and windows, peeping curiously in, above the 
shoulders of a dozen loungers. As to this idle company, there 
they stood spell-bound by the place, and, casting, now and 
then, a glance upon the darkness in their rear, settled their 
lazy elbows more at ease upon the sill, and leaned a little far- 
ther in, no more disposed to tear themselves away, than if they 
had been born to cluster round the blazing hearth, like so 
many crickets. 

Out upon the angry wind ! how from sighing, it began to 
bluster round the merry forge, banging at the merry wicket, 
and grumbling in the chimney, as if it bullied the jolly bellows 
for doing any thing to order ! And what an impotent swag- 
gerer it was too, for all its noise ! For, if it had any influence 
on that hoarse companion, it was but to make him roar his 
cheerful song the louder, and, by consequence, to make the 
fire burn the brighter, and the sparks to dance more gayly yet. 
At length, they whizzed so madly round and round, that it was 
too much for such a surly wind to bear : so off it flew with a 
howl, giving the old sign before the alehouse door such a cuff 
as it went, that the Blue Dragon was more rampant than usual 
ever afterward, and, indeed, before Christinas, reared clean 
out of his crazy frame. 

It was small tyranny for a respectable wind to go wreaking 
its vengeance on such poor creatures as the fallen leaves ; but 
this wind happening to come up with a great heap of them, 



124 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

just after venting its humour on the insulted Dragon, did so 
disperse and scatter them, that they fled away, pell-mell, some 
here, some there, rolling over each other, whirling round upon 
their thin edges, taking frantic flights into the air, and playing 
all manner of extraordinary gambols in the extremity of their 
distress. Nor was this enough for its malicious fury ; for, not 
content with driving them abroad, it charged small parties of 
them, and hunted them into the wheelwright's saw-pit, and 
below the planks and timbers in the yard, and scattering the 
saw-dust in the air, it looked for them underneath ; and when 
it did meet with any, — whew ! how it drove them on, and 
followed at their heels ! 

The scared leaves only flew the faster for all this ; and a 
giddy chase it was ; for they got into unfrequented places, 
where there was no outlet, and where their pursuer kept them 
eddying round and round, at his pleasure; and they crept 
under the eaves of houses, and clung tightly to the sides of 
hayricks, like bats, and tore in at the open chamber windows, 
and cowered close to hedges; and, in short, went anywhere 
for safety. 

Being, by this time, weary of such trifling performances, 
the boisterous rover hurried away rejoicing, roaring over moor 
and meadow, hill and flat, until it got out to sea, where it met 
with other winds similarly disposed, and made a night of it. 



EXERCISE LIV. 

TIME. Carey. 

Say, is there aught that can convey 
An image of Time's transient stay 1 
'Tis a hand'sbreadth ; 'tis a tale ; 
'Tis a vessel under sail ; 
'Tis a conqueror's straining steed ; 
'Tis a shuttle in its speed ; 
'Tis an eagle on its way, 
Darting down upon its prey ; 
'Tis an arrow in its flight, 
Mocking the pursuing sight ; 
'Tis a vapour in the air ; 
'Tis a whirlwind rushing there ; 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 125 

'Tis a short-lived fading flower ; 
'Tis a rainbow on a shower ; 
'Tis a momentary ray, 
Smiling in a winter's day. 
'Tis a torrent's troubled stream ; 
'Tis a shadow ; 'tis a dream ; 
'Tis the closing watch of night, 
Dying at approaching light ; 
'Tis a landscape vainly gay, 
Painted upon crumbling clay ; 
'Tis a lamp that wastes its fires ; 
'Tis a smoke that quick expires; 
'Tis a bubble ; 'tis a sigh : — 
Be prepared, O man, to die ! 



EXERCISE LV. 
CHILDHOOD OF LUCRETIA DAVIDSON. Miss Sedgwick. 

Lucretia's first literary acquisition indicated her after 
course. She learned her letters at once. At the age of four, 
she was sent to the Plattsburg Academy, where she learned 
to read, and to form letters in sand, after the Lancasterian 
method. As soon as she could read, her books drew her away 
from the plays of childhood; and she was constantly found 
absorbed in the little volumes that her father lavished upon 
her. 

Her mother, on some occasion, in haste to write a letter, 
looked, in vain, for a sheet of paper. A whole quire had 
strangely disappeared from the table on which the writing im- 
plements usually lay : she expressed a natural vexation. Her 
little girl came forward, confused, and said, " Mamma, I have 
used it." Her mother, knowing she had never been taught to 
write, was amazed, and asked what possible use she could have 
for it. Lucretia burst into tears, and replied, that " she did 
not like to tell." Her mother respected the childish mystery, 
and made no farther inquiries. 

The paper continued to vanish ; and the child was often 
observed with pen and ink, still sedulously shunning observa- 
tion. At last, her mother, on seeing her make a blank book, 
asked what she was going to do with it. Lucretia blushed, 
11* 



126 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

and left the room, without replying. This sharpened her 
mother's curiosity : she watched the child narrowly, and saw 
that she had made quantities of these little books, and that she 
was disturbed by observation ; and if one of the family re- 
quested to see them, she would burst into tears, and run away 
to hide her secret treasure. 

The mystery remained unexplained, till she was six years 
old, when her mother, in exploring a closet rarely opened, 
found, behind piles of linen, a parcel of papers, which proved 
to be Lucretia's manuscript books. At first, the hieroglyphics 
seemed to baffle investigation. On one side of the leaf was 
an artfully-sketched picture, on the other, Roman letters, some 
placed upright, others horizontally, obliquely, or backwards, 
not formed into words, nor spaced in any mode. Both parents 
pored over them till they ascertained the letters were poetical 
explanations, in metre and in rhyme, of the picture in the 
reverse. The little books were carefully put away, as literary 
curiosities. 

Not long after this, Lucretia came running to her mother, — 
painfully agitated, — her face covered with her hands, and 
tears trickling down between her slender fingers, — " O mam- 
ma ! mamma ! " she cried, sobbing, " how could you treat me 
so ? You have not used me well ! My little books ! — you 
have shown them to papa, — Anne, — Eliza, — I know you 
have. Oh ! what shall I do ? " 

Her mother pleaded guilty, and tried to soothe the child, by 
promising not to do so again. Lucretia's face brightened ; 
and a sunny smile played through her tears as she replied, 
" O mamma, I am not afraid you will do so again ; for I have 
burned them all ; " — and so she had ! 

This reserve proceeded from nothing cold or exclusive in 
her character ; never was there a more loving or sympathetic 
creature. It would be difficult to say which was most rare, 
her modesty, or the genius it sanctified. 

She did not learn to write till she was between six and 
seven ; her passion for knowledge was then rapidly develop- 
ing ; she read with the closest attention, and was continually 
running to her parents, with questions and remarks that 
startled them. At a very early age, her mother implanted the 
seeds of religion, — the first that should be sown in the virgin 
soil of the heart. That the dews of Heaven fell upon them, is 
evident from the breathing of piety throughout her poetry, and 
still more from its precious fruit in her life. Her mother 
remarks, that, " from her earliest years, she evinced a fear of 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 127 

doing any thing displeasing in the sight of God ; and if, in her 
gayest sallies, she caught a look of disapprobation from me, 
she would ask, with the most artless simplicity, ' O mother, 
was that wicked 1 ' " 



EXERCISE LVI. 

A PRAYER IN SICKNESS. Procter. 

Send down thy winged angel, God ! 

Amid this night so wild ; 
And bid him come where now we watch, 

And breathe upon our child ! 

She lies upon her pillow, pale, 

And moans within her sleep, 
Or waketh with a patient smile, 

And striveth not to weep. 

How gentle and how good a child 

She is, we know too well, 
And dearer to her parents' hearts, 

Than our weak words can tell. 

We love, — we watch throughout the night, 

To aid, when need may be : 
We hope, — and have despaired, at times, 

But now we turn to Thee ! 

Send down thy sweet-souled angel, God ! 

Amid the darkness wild ; 
And bid him soothe our souls to-night, 

And heal our gentle child ! 



EXERCISE LVII. 

MORNING SERVICE IN THE TEMPLE AT JERUSALEM. 

Anon. 

Elnathan ascended Mount Moriah, early in the morning, 
and drew near to the eastern gate of the outer court of the 



128 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Temple, called the King's Gate, which was- framed of wood, 
and overlaid with plates of brass. The wall of the court, 
which was partly of wood, and partly of stone, was, on this 
side, supported upon a great terrace, raised up with huge 
stones from the deep valley of Kedron below, in order to 
enlarge the space on the top of the hill, and make it equal to 
the plan which Solomon intended. 

And when the sun began to rise, the gates of the Lord's 
House were opened by the porters, to the sound of silver 
trumpets ; and Elnathan entered into the outer court of the 
people, along with the multitude who had come from the city 
to worship. He advanced towards the steps of the east gate 
of the inner court of the Temple, called the Higher Gate of 
the Lord's House. And, looking through this gate, he saw 
before him the lofty and magnificent porch of the House of God, 
or Sanctuary, one hundred and twenty cubits high, built of beau- 
tiful white stones, which had been hewn out in the neighbour- 
ing mountains. Behind this structure, — only half its height 
from the ground, but of equal altitude, being built on a hill, — 
stood the Temple, or Sanctuary, itself; consisting of the Holy 
Place, and Holy of Holies, surrounded by three stories of 
chambers, each four cubits square. And within the court, he 
saw the brazen altar, and the molten sea, and the priests 
passing to and fro, barefooted, and clothed in long white linen 
garments, having girdles embroidered with blue, purple, and 
scarlet, and bonnets of white linen upon their heads. And, 
lying upon the ascent of the altar, he saw the lamb already 
slain, and prepared for the morning sacrifice. And Elnathan 
put off his sandals, and Covered his head with the corner of 
his garment, as unworthy to lift up his eyes in the divine 
presence ; and so he went and stood in his place, among the 
congregation of Israelites who had come to worship. 

Two priests now began to ascend, with great solemnity, 
the steps which were before the door of the lofty and beau- 
tiful porch of the Lord's House, to offer incense upon the 
golden altar, within the Holy Place. One of them carried a 
censer with live coals taken from the fire, which burned con- 
tinually upon the brazen altar ; and the other had, in his hand, 
a golden censer, full of frankincense. Two other priests 
walked before them, who had already been in the Holy Place, 
trimming the golden lamps, and cleansing the altar of incense. 
And when they had all entered the Holy Place, the two 
priests, who had been there before, took up the golden vessels 
which they had used in their service, and then, after worship- 



YOUNG LADIES' READER, 129 

ping toward the most Holy Place, they came out, and stood in 
the porch. And he who carried the censer of coals, after 
kindling the fire on the incense altar, also worshipped, and 
came out and stood with the two others in the porch, leaving 
the priest who was to offer, alone in the Holy Place. Every 
thing being now ready, the incense was kindled upon the golden 
altar ; and the Holy Piace was filled with the odour ; and all 
the congregation without bowed their heads, with their faces 
to the earth, and their hands upon their breasts, and prayed : — 
"Appoint peace, goodness, and blessing — grace, mercy, 
and compassion for us, and for all Israel thy people ! Bless 
us, O our Father ! even all of us as one man, with the light 
of thy countenance ; for, in the light of thy countenance, 
thou, O Lord our God, hast given .us the law of life, and lov- 
ing mercy and righteousness, and blessing and compassion, 
and life and peace. Let it please Thee to bless thy people 
Israel, at all times ! In the book of life, with blessing, and 
peace, and sustentation, let us be remembered and written 
before Thee, — we, and all thy people, the house of Israel." 



EXERCISE LVIII. 
THE SAME SUBJECT, CONCLUDED. Ibid. 

And when the prayers were ended, the priest, whose lot it 
was, took the lamb which had been slain for the morning 
sacrifice, and laid it upon the fire which was burning upon 
the brazen altar. After this was done, the priest, who had 
been in the Holy Place, offering incense, came out with the 
other three who ministered with him, and, standing upon the 
steps which were before the entrance of the porch, with their 
eyes bent upon the ground, they stretched out their hands 
towards heaven ; and one of them, in a loud and solemn 
voice, blessed the people, and said — " The Lord bless thee 
and keep thee : the Lord make his face to shine upon thee 
and be gracious to thee : the Lord lift up his countenance 
upon thee, and give thee peace." And when he had ended, 
the daily meat-offering was made, and the drink-offering 
poured out. 

Then the Levites, who stood on the east side of the altar, 
having harps, and psalteries, and tabrets, and cornets, and 



130 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

cymbals, began to play upon them ; and the women and the 
Levites, who sang with their voices, began this song of 
praise : — 

" The earth is the Lord's and the fulness thereof; 
The world, and they that dwell therein : 
For he hath founded it upon the seas, 
And established it upon the floods." 

Here they paused, while the priests sounded their silver 
trumpets, and the congregation bowed their heads, and wor- 
shipped. And, after this pause, half of the musicians and of 
the singers sang, — 

" Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord ? 
And who shall stand in his Holy Place ? ,J 

And the other half answered them in their song, — - 

" He that hath clean hands, 
And a pure heart ; 

Who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, 
Nor sworn deceitfully ; 

He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, 
And righteousness from the God of his salvation." 

To which the other half responded, singing, — 

" This is the generation of them that seek Him, 
That seek thy face, — O Jacob ! " 

Upon which the whole band united, and sang, — 
" Praise ye the Lord." 

And then they all paused, while the priests again sounded 
their silver trumpets, and the people bowed their heads, and 
worshipped. After this, half of the musicians and of the 
singers resumed their song, — 

" Lift up your heads, O ye gates ; 
And be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors ; 
And the King of Glory shall come in ! " 

Upon which the other half asked, 

" Who is this King of Glory ? " 
And the first answered them, 

" The Lord strong and mighty, 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 131 

The Lord mighty in battle. 
Lift up your heads, O ye gates : 
Even lift them up, ye everlasting doors ; 
And the King of Glory shall come in ! " 

The other half asked again, 

" Who is this King of Glory ? " 

And the first replied to them, 

" The Lord of hosts, 
He is the King of Glory." 

Upon which the whole band united, and sang, in loud chorus, 

" Praise ye the Lord ; " 

while the priests sounded their silver trumpets, and the people 
bowed their heads, and worshipped. 

Thus ended the morning service in the Temple ; the people 
afterwards dispersing to their different habitations. 



EXERCISE LIX. 

SONG OF THE STARS. Bryant. 

Away, away ! through the wide, wide sky, — 
The fair blue fields that before us lie ; 
Each sun with the worlds that round us roll, 
Each planet poised on her turning pole, 
With her isles of green, and her clouds of white, 
And waters that lie like fluid light ! 

For the Source of glory uncovers his face, 
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space : 
And we drink, as we go, the luminous tides 
In our ruddy air, and our blooming sides ; — 
Lo ! yonder the living splendours play : — 
Away, on our joyous path, away ! 

Look, look ! — through our glittering ranks afar, 
In the infinite azure, star after star, 
How they brighten and bloom, as they swiftly pass,- 
How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass, 



132 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

And the path of the gentle winds is seen, 

Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean ! 

And see, where the brighter day-beams pour, 
How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower ; 
And the morn and the eve, with their pomp of hues, 
Shift o'er the bright planets, and shed their dews, 
And, 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground, 
With her shadowy cone, the night goes round ! 

Away, away ! In our blossoming bowers, 

In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours, 

In the seas and fountains that shine with morn, 

See love is brooding, and life is born ; 

And breathing myriads are breaking from night, 

To rejoice, like us, in motion and light ! 



EXERCISE LX. 

FILIAL REVERENCE. Mrs. Farrar. 

The present state of manners, though not the best possible, 
has one advantage over that which preceded it : it is more 
favourable to a confidential intercourse between children and 
parents, than was the starched demeanour of our forefathers ; 
but there might be a much greater infusion of respect, without 
any diminution of confidence. Filial love, indeed, can never 
exist, in perfection, unless it be founded on a deep sentiment 
of reverence ; and where that has not been well cultivated in 
childhood, it is soon frittered entirely away, by habitual indul- 
gence in disrespect, flippancy, or rude familiarity. 

The sentiment of reverence is one of the noblest attributes 
of the human mind : to its exercise, God has affixed an ex- 
quisite sense of enjoyment ; it operates, in a thousand ways, 
to elevate and embellish the character. Its first development 
is in the feelings of a child for its parents ; and this is the 
natural preparation of the mind for its rise to a higher object, 
even to the Father in heaven. As the understanding ripens, 
and this sentiment is cultivated, it embraces all that is great 
and good among men, all that is vast and magnificent in nature 
and in art; shedding over the character of its possessor an 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 133 

indescribable grace, softening the very tones of the voice, and 
rendering it impossible for the manners to be wanting in defer- 
ence and courtesy towards parents, or teachers, or the aged 
of any description. 

Where the sentiment of reverence is deficient, a foundation 
is wanting for many graceful superstructures ; and the defect 
shows itself in various ways, of which the irreverent are little 
aware ; or they would endeavour to supply the deficiency, as a 
mere matter of taste, if not of principle. Such persons will 
have unpleasant manners which no rules of good-breeding will 
correct : and as the irreverent state of feeling grows by indul- 
gence in disrespectful demeanour, they are in danger of becom- 
ing bold, reckless, and even impious. 

You whom I address, are yet young : whatever may have 
been your education, you are yet young enough to reeducate 
yourselves ; you have hearts capable of being touched by the 
beautiful, the true, the sublime. You feel reverence for God 
and the things that belong to religion ; but you have not, per- 
haps, considered how the same sentiment is connected with 
other relations in life. In all the great moral authors whom 
you have read, you have found filial piety, and reverence for 
the aged, treated as indispensable qualities in a virtuous char- 
acter, whether heathen or Christian ; but you may never have 
reflected on the indications which you give of the want of it 
in your own. If, then, your conscience tells you that you are 
guilty of those faults of manner, which I have described as but 
too common in our society, you may be sure that your feel- 
ings of reverence need quickening and cultivating ; and if you 
would escape becoming the harsh, ungraceful character, 
which grows out of such delinquency, you must reform your 
manners. 

It is to be feared, that some young ladies think themselves 
excused from the duty of filial reverence, because they are 
more highly educated than their parents ; they have more 
knowledge, more refinement ; and therefore they may dictate, 
contradict, and set up their judgments in opposition to their 
fathers' and mothers 5 ! But this is a great mistake : no supe- 
riority of culture can change the relation of child and parent, 
or annul the duties that grow out of it. The better your edu- 
cation has been, the more cause for gratitude to those who 
have procured for you this blessing : the higher the culture, 
the more you are bound to perform well all the duties of life ; 
the greater your refinement, the more perfect should be your 
manners towards your parents; the more your influence is 
12 



134 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

needed in the family, the more important it is, that you should 
not impair it, by such faults as the uneducated can judge of, 
as well as the most cultivated. There is, besides, a great 
meanness in turning against your parents the weapons which 
their kindness has put into your hands. The acquirements 
of their children often make parents feel their own deficiencies 
very painfully ; and nothing but the most respectful behaviour, 
on the part of the offspring, can lessen the mortification, and 
convince them that, apart from all such adventitious circum- 
stances, they have undeniable claims to the love and reverence 
of their children. 

Nothing can justify the want of respect, in the manners of 
children to parents, of pupils to teachers, of the young to the 
aged ; not even faults of character in the individuals claiming 
such deference and regard. It is due to yourself to treat the 
relation with respect; and the more perfectly proper your 
manners are, the greater will be your influence. 

There is nothing, in the whole circle of domestic relations, 
so lovely, so pure, so honourable to both parties, as the respect- 
ful, affectionate, and confidential intercourse of some young 
women with their parents. 



EXERCISE LXI. 

LOVE AND DEATH. Tennyson. 

What time the mighty moon was gathering light, 

Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise, 

And all about him rolled his lustrous eyes ; 
When, turning round a cassia, full in view, 
Death, walking all alone beneath a yew, 
And talking to himself, first met his sight. 

" You must be gone/' said Death : " these walks are mine.' 
Love wept, and spread his sheeny vans for flight; 

Yet ere he parted said, " This hour is thine : 
Thou art the shadow of Life ; and as the tree 

Stands in the sun, and shadows all beneath, 
So, in the light of great Eternity, 

Life eminent creates the shade of death ; — 
The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall ; 
But I shall reign forever over all." 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 135 

EXERCISE LXII. 

AN OLD FRIEND. Court Journal. 

What a fine old man comes down the street, buttoned up to 
the chin, in a shaggy great coat, which gives him somewhat 
the look of a bear ! How sturdily he steps along ! — Yes, he 
is a fine old man, with his cold, clear, blue eye, and his rosy 
face, like a winter apple. Perhaps he is rather too stout, and 
his face is rather too rubicund ; but it is the frost without, 
acting on the good cheer within, which giveth that hue, — and 
a right pleasing one after all. 

Surely he is some high personage ; for, mark, as he parades 
the street, how the boys cease their snowballing; the shop- 
windows assume a gayer look ; and, to win his eye as he passes, 
the grocer fills his window with oranges, and best raisins, and 
lays a strange image, of a foot high, against the glass pane, 
wrought of fig-paste, raisins, and blanched almonds. The 
stranger sends a benevolent smile into the shop, which the 
courtly grocer returneth with his very best bow; and even 
after he is taking down orders from a good customer, his 
thoughts wander after the giver of the smile. 

The green-grocer has caught a glimpse of him ; and, putting 
a hastily-pulled handful of red-berried holly into her bosom, 
she comes courtesying forth to greet him, from amid the boughs 
of shining holly and mystic mistletoe. The hearty kiss he 
bestows upon the fat dame, makes the ragged urchins in the 
street laugh ; and one of them, in defiance of all good-breeding, 
sends a well-aimed snowball at the old gentleman's nose. 

Look ! how he jumps round ; and now he is snow-balling his 
tormentors ; and they run, shout, and return to the charge, till 
a gruff voice growls from the butcher's stall — " Get along, 
you warmint ! I aint a-going to stand this a-snowballing one of 
my best friends;" — and a heavy stick is brandished by the 
muscular arm of Master Blue-apron, which disperses the young 
crew in a few seconds. " Sarvint, sir, sarvint; them boys is 
enough to drive a saint distracted. Beautiful show of beef, 
sir ! sirloin, from the prize-ox." And truly, the goodly show 
of red and white, ranged in symmetrical order, among boughs 
of bright holly, is enough to make the heart glad. 

The poulterer's dainty store of fat capons and crammed 
turkeys, induces the stranger to pause for a moment. I think 
he would have taken up his abode at the door ; but the church- 



136 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

clock chimed twelve, and a coach with four bays drove up to 
the principal inn. The stranger took his seat on the box, and 
handled the reins as if he were a skilful whip. Off we go. 
The country looks clear and still ; the frost lies on the berries 
of the hips and haws on the way-side ; and the roads are crisp 
with snow. There is a large sheet of ice in yonder meadow : 
it covers a pond ; and numerous hardy youngsters and unbeard- 
ed youths are skating over its smooth surface. 

Oh ! but it is cold. " Seasonable weather,' 5 says the stran- 
ger, " warms the heart, — cold hands, warm heart." The 
coach stops at the gate of a country mansion ; and we descend. 
The old gentleman offers me his arm ; and we pace it to the 
house. The shrubberies are magnificent, and the weather as 
beautiful as they. I have forgotten the cold ; for such a calm 
as lies now on inanimate nature, warms and cheers the soul. 
And what a sight within the walls of that large house ! — a 
family party, — great-great-aunts, grandmothers, great-great- 
grandchildren, sitting down to an early dinner. Early ! Bless 
your heart ! it is four o'clock. I remember when we dined at 
twelve. Simple habits make man estimable. 

" Early to bed, and early to rise, 
Early to eat, and early to pray, 
Will make a man healthy, wealthy, and wise, 
And point out to God the way." 

What sumptuous fare ! Come in ; they are waiting for me 
to say grace, — always say it to-day. 

The old gentleman entered the hall ; he laid aside his shaggy 
coat, which looked none the better for its morning snowballing ; 
and, as he made his way to the dining-room, I saw him catch 
a blooming girl of sixteen in his arms, and give her a hearty 
kiss. In her playful struggles to get free, a spray of mistletoe 
fell from his button-hole ; and the sprightly maiden placed it 
gayly in her girdle, singing — " No mistletoe bough, no kiss, 
good sir." What jokes and laughter did he not cause, — that 
dear old man ! How he cut oranges into sick ladies, for the 
children, and made himself into a little old dwarf, to mystify 
their sires and frighten the young girls ; for now the daylight 
had long been shut out; and red damask curtains hung in 
heavy folds over the windows. 

Then, in the stone hall, the mysteries of snap-dragon and 
the magic lantern were alternately tried ; and when mirth 
seemed to flag, the summons to tea was given ; and a dance 
to the music of a blind fiddler, promised to the young ones on 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 137 

the carpet. How we danced, — grandsires and maiden aunts, 
babes of two years and their pretty mothers ! We danced till, 
one by one, the young ones deserted our ranks, and stretched 
themselves in dark corners and on sofas, to sleep. 

And now the children were dismissed to bed ; — the country 
dance was over, — the fiddler sent into the servants' hall to 
make merry ; and we drew our seats close round the fire, and 
talked of by-gones, till all hearts were softened. At eleven 
o'clock, the stranger began to get fidgetty ; at half-past eleven, 
he said he must go and see how the servants' hall stood for 
merriment ; and bursts of laughter, which were faintly heard 
in the drawing-room, followed his appearance in those far-off 
regions. 

I saw an old grandfather smile, as if in possession of some 
mighty secret, and presently he whispered to me, — " Sly 
dog ! there is a bough of mistletoe over the door ! " — The 
half hour chimed, the bell rang for prayers ; and soon the 
whole household knelt around their head ; and a serious voice 
repeated the words of grace and thanksgiving. And the old 
gentleman, who had returned, like a truant child expecting to 
be whipped, slipped silently into his place, after the rest ; and 
I heard his voice join in the offering of praise. Beneath the 
windows, a band of rural musicians struck up a stirring tune 
of minstrelsy, as we rose from our knees. " The waits!" said 
the master of the house. " Give them their Christmas-box." 

I turned to speak to the stranger, but he had disappeared ; 
and, at that moment, the pendule on the marble slab struck 
the hour of midnight, — Christmas was indeed gone. Dear, 
warm-hearted old Christmas ! with his gambols and his quaint 
sayings, he was gone ; and I had not found time to wish him 
many happy returns of his visit ; — I had not found time to 
bid him farewell ! 



EXERCISE LXIIL 

THE LAST WISH. 1. M'LeUan, Jr. 

The celebrated Wilson, the ornithologist, requested that he might be 
buried near some sunny spot, where the birds would come and sing 
over his grave. 

In some wild forest shade, 
Under some spreading oak, or waving pine, 
12 * 



138 INTRODUCTION- TO THE 

Or old elm, festooned with the gadding vine, 
Let me be laid. 

In this dim, lonely grot, 
No foot, intrusive, ever will be found ; 
But o'er me, songs of the wild bird shall sound, 

Cheering the spot. 

Not amid charnel stones 
Or coffins dark, and thick with ancient mould, 
With tattered pall, and fringe of cankered gold, 

May rest my bones. 

But let the dewy rose, 
The snow-drop and the violet, lend perfume, 
Above the spot, where, in my grassy tomb, 

I take repose. 

Year after year, 
Within the silver birch-tree, o'er me hung, 
The chirping wren shall rear her callow young, 

Shall build her dwelling near. 

There, at the purple dawn of day, 
The lark shall chant a pealing song above ; 
And the shrill quail, when eve grows dim and gray, 

Shall pipe her hymn of love. 

The blackbird and the thrush, 
And golden oriole, shall flit around, 
And waken, with a mellow gush of sound, 

The forest's solemn hush. 

Birds from the distant sea 
Shall sometimes hither flock, on snowy wings, 
And soar above my dust, in airy rings, 

Singing a dirge to me. 



YOUiXG ladies' READER. 139 

EXERCISE LXIV. 

GOD THE CREATOR. Fenelon, translated by Mrs. Follen. 

Cast your eyes upon the earth that supports us ; raise them 
then to this immense vault of the heavens, that surrounds us ; 
these fathomless abysses of air and water, and these countless 
stars that give us light. Who is it that has suspended this 
globe of earth 1 who has laid its foundations 1 If it were 
harder, its bosom could not be laid open by man for cultiva- 
tion ; if it were less firm, it could not support the weight of 
his footsteps. From it proceed the most precious things : 
this earth, so mean and unformed, is transformed into thou- 
sands of beautiful objects, that delight our eyes. In the 
course of one year, it becomes branches, buds, leaves, flowers, 
fruits, and seeds ; thus renewing its bountiful favours to man. 
Nothing exhausts it. After yielding, for so many ages, its 
treasures, it experiences no decay ; it does not grow old ; it 
still pours forth riches from its bosom. 

Generations of men have grown old and passed away, while, 
every spring, the earth has renewed its youth. If it were cul- 
tivated, it would nourish a hundred fold more than it now 
does. Its inequalities add to its beauty and utility. The 
mountains have risen, and the valleys descended, in the places 
where the Lord has appointed ! In the deep valleys grows 
the fresh herbage for cattle. Rich harvests wave in the 
champaign * country. Here, ranges of little hills rise like an 
amphitheatre, and are crowned with vineyards and fruit-trees ; 
there, high mountains lift their snow-crowned heads among 
the clouds. The torrents that pour from their sides, are the 
sources of the rivers. The rocks, marking their steep heights, 
support the earth of the mountains, just as the bones of the 
human body support the flesh. This variety makes the charm 
of rural scenery, while it is also the means of satisfying all 
the different wants of man. 

Every thing that the earth produces, is decomposed, and 
returns again to its bosom, and becomes the germ of a new 
production. Every thing that springs from it, returns to it ; 
and nothing is lost. All the seeds that we sow in it, return 
multiplied to us. It produces stone and marble, of which we 

* Properly pronounced, sham'pain, in contradistinction to champaign^ 
(shampain',) the wine of Champagne. 



140 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

make our superb edifices. It teems with minerals, precious 
or useful to man. Look at the plants that spring from it. 
Their species and their virtues are innumerable. 

Contemplate these vast forests, as ancient as the world ; 
those trees whose roots strike into the earth, as their branches 
spread out towards the heavens. Their roots support them 
against the winds, and are like subterranean pipes, whose 
office is to collect the nourishment necessary for the support 
of the stem; the stem is covered with a thick bark, which 
protects the tender wood from the air ; the branches distribute, 
in different canals, the sap which the roots have collected in 
the trunk. In summer, they protect us with their shade from 
the rays of the sun ; in winter, they feed the flame that keeps 
us warm. Their wood is not only useful for fuel ; but it is of 
a substance, although solid and durable, to which the hand of 
man can give every form that he pleases, for the purposes of 
architecture and navigation. Fruit-trees, as they bow their 
branches towards the earth, seem to invite us to receive their 
treasures. The feeblest plant contains within itself the germ 
of all that we admire in the grandest tree. The earth, that 
does not change, itself, produces all these changes in its 
offspring. 

Who has stretched over our heads this vast and glorious 
vault ? What sublime objects are there ! An All-powerful 
hand has presented this grand spectacle to our vision. 

What does the regular succession of day and night teach 
us? The sun has never omitted, for so many ages, to shed 
his blessing upon us. The dawn never fails to announce the 
day ; and the sun, says the Holy Book, knows his going down. 
Thus it enlightens alternately both sides of the world, and 
sheds its rays on all. Day is the time for society and employ- 
ment. Night folds the world in darkness, finishes our labours, 
and softens our troubles. It suspends, it calms every thing. 
It sheds around us silence and sleep ; it rests our bodies, it 
revives our spirits. Then day returns, and recalls man to 
labour, and reanimates all nature. 

But besides the constant course of the sun, that produces 
day and night; during six months, it approaches one pole, 
and during the other six, the opposite one. By this beautiful 
order, one sun answers for the whole world. If the sun, at 
the same distance, were larger, it would light the whole world, 
but it would consume it with its heat. If it were smaller, the 
earth would be all ice, and could not be inhabited by men. 

What compass has been stretched from heaven to earth, 



YOUNG ladies' reader. 141 

and taken such just measurements ? The changes of the sun 
make the variety of the seasons, which we find so delightful. 
The spring checks the cold winds, wakens the flowers, and 
gives the promise of fruits. The summer brings the riches 
of the harvest. The autumn displays the fruits that spring 
has promised. Winter, which is the night of the year, treas- 
ures up all its riches, only in order that the following spring 
may bring them forth again with new beauty. Thus Nature, 
so variously adorned, presents alternately her beautiful changes, 
that man may never cease to admire. The Hand that guides 
this glorious work, must be as skilful as it is powerful, to have 
made it so simple, yet so effectual ; so constant and so be- 
neficent. 



EXERCISE LXV. 

ELIOT * AND THE INDIAN. Anon. 

It was an autumn morning fair, 

Ere yet the sun was high ; 
But the early mists were passed away, 

And placid was the sky, 
When on the turf, beside the wood, 
Five hundred Indian warriors stood, 
And keenly turned the listening ear, 
The white man's coming step to hear. 

He came, — but not with sword or plume, 

Bright helm or glance of pride : 
His robe was of the forest woof; 

A cap of wild deer's hide 
Above his parted locks he wore; 
And in his hand a scroll he bore. 

They, gathering, thronged, — the wild, the free, • 

Around that lonely man ; 
And many a piercing eye was bent 

His face and form to scan ; 



* Often called " the apostle of the Indians," — from his devoted 
labours among the native tribes of Massachusetts, as a self-sustained 
missionary. 



142 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

But on his mild and open brow, 
No trace of terror did he show ; 
And backward, silent and amazed, 
They drew, yet still in wonder gazed. 

The stranger kneeled ; — and toward his God 

He raised his forehead bare, 
And in his earnest native tongue 

He poured a rapid prayer : 
Perchance his prayer he could not frame, 
Those rugged Indian words to name ; 
The warriors silent stood, and near, 
That noble foreign speech to hear. 

Then to the listening chiefs he turned, 
And in their language spoke ; 

His kindling words with fervour burned, 
His voice like music broke 

Upon a stillness so profound, 

You started from the lightest sound. 

Oh ! it were worth ten years of life, 

That forest church to see, — 
Its pillars of the living pine, 

Its dome, the arching tree ! 
While round and round, in circling band, 
The savage Indian hunters stand ; 
And in the centre, — all alone, — 
The fearless and devoted one ! 

He told of mercy, — full and deep, 

And boundless as the sea ; 
And of a bright One who was slain 

To set his children free ; 
And of a glorious world on high, 

For those who faithful be ! 
And ever as his theme grew higher, 
His pale cheek flushed with living fire ; 
His sweet low voice rang proudly out, 
And rose to an exulting shout ! 

Then with the pleading tones of love 
He sought their hearts to win ; 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 143 

He told them of his holy book, 

And all that lay within ; 
And when he marked their bosoms swell, 
He spoke his blessing and farewell ! 

Full many an outstretched hand sprang forth, 

Their passing friend to greet ; 
For they wist not that upon this earth 

They ever more might meet ; 
And kindly wish and kindlier word, 
From many a swarthy lip was heard ; 
But there was one apart who crept, 
And turned his face away — and wept. 

Ay, wept ! — The haughty Indian chief 

Even to the dust was bowed, — 
The strong man's soul was touched with grief, 

And he must weep aloud ! 
But none may hear an Indian's moan, — 
He rushed into the woods alone : 

Yet not unmarked, — his gentle friend 

Upon his footsteps trod ; 
And, kneeling down beside him, there, 

He prayed for him to God ! 
Then went rejoicing on his way, 
O'er all the blessings of that day ! 



EXERCISE LXVI. 

A DAY IN BROADWAY. Anon. 

I strolled up Broadway, between nine and ten, and en- 
countered the morning tide doicn ; and if you never have 
studied the physiognomy of this great thoroughfare, in its 
various fluxes and refluxes, the differences would amuse you. 
The clerks and mechanics have passed down, an hour before 
the nine o'clock tide ; and the sidewalk is filled, at this time, 
with speculators bound to Wall Street ; old merchants and 
junior partners, bound to Pearl and Water ; and lawyers, 
young and old, bound for Nassau and Pine. 



144 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Ah ! the faces of care ! The day's operations are working 
out in their eyes ; their hats are pitched forward at the angle 
of a stage coach, with all the load on the driver's seat ; their 
shoulders are raised with the shrug of anxiety ; their steps are 
hurried and short ; and mortal face and gait could scarcely 
express a heavier burden of solicitude than every man seems 
to bear. They nod to you without a smile, and with a kind 
of unconscious recognition ; and, if you are unaccustomed to 
walk out at that hour, you might fancy that, if there were not 
some great public calamity, your friends, at least, had done 
smiling on you. 

Walk as far as Niblo's, stop at the greenhouse there, and 
breathe an hour in the delicious atmosphere of flowering plants, 
and then return. There is no longer any particular current 
in Broadway. Foreigners coming out from the cafes, after 
their late breakfast, and idling up and down for fresh air ; 
country people shopping early ; ladies going to their dress- 
makers in close veils and demi-toilettes ; errand-boys, news- 
boys, duns, and doctors, make up the throng. 

Toward twelve o'clock, there is a sprinkling of mechanics 
going to dinner, — a merry, short-jacketed troop, glancing 
gayly at the women as they pass, and disappearing round 
corners and up alleys. And, an hour later, Broadway begins 
to brighten. The omnibuses go along empty, and at a slow 
pace : few people, now, would rather ride than walk. The side 
streets are tributaries of silks and velvets, flowers and feathers, 
to the great thoroughfare ; and ladies, whose proper mates, 
(judging by the dress alone,) should be lords and princes, and 
dandies, shoppers, and loungers of every description, take 
crowded possession of thepawe. 

At nine o'clock, you look into the troubled faces of men 
going to their business, and ask yourself, " To what end is all 
this burden of care ? " and at two, you gaze on the universal 
prodigality of exterior, and wonder what fills the multitude of 
pockets that pay for it ! The faces are beautiful ; the shops 
are thronged, the sidewalks crowded for an hour; and then 
the full tide turns, and sets upward. 

The most of those who are out at three, are bound to the 
upper part of the city, to dine ; and the merchants and law- 
yers, excited by collision and contest above the depression of 
care, join, smiling, in the throng. The physiognomy of the 
crowd is at its brightest. Dinner is the smile of the day to 
most people ; and the hour approaches. Whatever has hap- 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 145 

pened in stocks or politics, whoever is dead, whoever ruined, 
since morning, Broadway is thronged with cheerful faces and 
good appetites, at three ! 



EXERCISE LXVII. 

THE DYING PAUPER AND HER SOVEREIGN. Arum. 

Outstretched beneath the leafy shade 
Of Windsor Forest's deepest glade, 

A dying woman lay ; 
Three little children round her stood, 
And there went up from the green wood 

A woful wail that day. 

" O mother ! " was the mingled cry, 
" O mother, mother ! do not die, 

And leave us all alone ! " — 
" My blessed babes ! " she tried to say, 
But the faint accents died away 

In a low, sobbing moan. 

And then life struggled hard with death, 
And fast and strong she drew her breath, 

And up she raised her head ; 
And, peering through the deep wood maze 
With a long, sharp, unearthly gaze, 

" Will she not come?' 5 she said. 

Just then, the parting boughs between, 
A little maid's light form was seen, 

All breathless with her speed ; 
And following close, a man came on, 
(A portly man to look upon,) 

Who led a panting steed. 

"Mother ! " the little maiden cried, 
Or ere she reached the woman's side, 

And kissed her clay-cold cheek, — 
" I have not idled in the town, 
But long went wandering up and down, 

The minister to seek. 
13 



146 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

" They told me here, they told me there, — 
I think they mocked me everywhere ; 

And when I found his home, 
And begged him on my bended knee 
To bring his book, and come with me, 

Mother ! he would not come. 

" I told him how you dying lay, 
And could not go in peace away 

Without the minister ; 
I begged him, for dear Christ, his sake, 
But oh ! my heart was fit to break, — 

Mother ! he would not stir. 

" So though my tears were blinding me, 
I ran back, fast as fast could be, 

To come again to you ; 
And here, — close by, — this squire I met, 
Who asked (so mild !) what made me fret; 

And when I told him true, 

" ' I will go with you, child,' he said ; 
1 God sends me to this dying bed : ' — 

Mother, he's here, hard by." 
While thus the little maiden spoke, 
The man, — his back against an oak, — 

Looked on with glistening eye. 

The bridle on his neck hung free, — 
With quivering flank and trembling knee, 

Pressed close his bonny bay ; 
A statelier man, — a statelier steed, 
Never on greensward paced, I rede, 

Than those stood there that day. 

So, while the little maiden spoke, 

The man, — his back against an oak, — 

Looked on with glistening eye 
And folded arms ; and in his look, 
Something that, like a sermon book, 

Preached, — " All is vanity." 

But when the dying woman's face 
Turned towards him with a wishful gaze, 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 147 



He stepped to where she lay ; 
And kneeling down, bent over her, 
Saying, — " I am a minister, — 

My sister ! let us pray." 

And well, withouten book or stole, 
(God's words were printed on his soul,) 

Into the dying ear 
He breathed, as 'twere an angel's strain, 
The things that unto life pertain, 

And death's dark shadows clear. 

He spoke of sinners' lost estate, 

In Christ renewed, — regenerate, — 

Of God's most blest decree, 
That not a single soul should die, 
Who turns repentant with the cry 

" Be merciful to me." 

He spoke of trouble, pain, and toil, 
Endured but for a little while 

In patience, — faith, — and love, — 
Sure, in God's own good time, to be 
Exchanged for an eternity 

Of happiness above. 

Then, — as the spirit ebbed away, — 
He raised his hands and eyes to pray 

That peaceful it might pass ; 
And then, — the orphans' sobs alone 
Were heard ; and they knelt every one 

Close round on the green grass. 

Such was the sight their wandering eyes 
Beheld, in heart-struck, mute surprise, „ 

Who reined their coursers back, 
Just as they found the long astray, 
Who, in the heat of chase, that day, 

Had wandered from their track. 

But each man reined his pawing steed, 
And lighted down, as if agreed, 
In silence at his side : 



148 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

And there, uncovered all, they stood : — 
It was a wholesome sight and good, 
That day, for mortal pride. 

For of the noblest of the land 

Was that deep-hushed, bare-headed band ; 

And central in the ring, 
By that dead pauper on the ground, 
Her ragged orphans clinging round, 

Knelt their anointed king.* 



EXERCISE LXVIII. 

MONASTERY OF ST. BERNARD. Brockedon. 

The scene around us was nearly closed in by mountain^, 
peaks and rocks, which descend even to the hospice : t upon the 
latter of these, bordering the lake, lay large patches of snow, 
from which it is rarely free throughout the year. The spot 
was wild beyond imagination, and combined the features of 
the sublime and the beautiful : to these we are disposed to add 
a third, — the social, — which, even in this wilderness in the 
clouds, we received from the kind attentions of the monks of 
St. Bernard. The brethren were at their duties in the chapel, 
when we entered ; but we were welcomed by an attentive ser- 
vant, who, in a few minutes, placed refreshments before us, 
and said we should be expected, at six o'clock, to sup with the 
brethren. The decent, unpretending kindness of this wel- 
come, delighted us. We were, soon after, greeted by some of 
the monks ; and surprised to see them all young men, — at 
least, none were forty. We learned that they volunteer into 
this kind and devoted service, at eighteen years of age ; their 
vows are for fifteen years to this duty ; but few are robust 
enough to bear the severities of the winter, at this height, 
without feeling their effects in broken constitutions and ruined 
health; for, even in the height of summer, it always freezes, 
early in the morning. The hospice is rarely four months clear 
of snow; its average depth around the building is seven or 

* The royal minister was George the Third. The anecdote is re- 
lated on the authority of the Rev. George Crabbe. 

t Pronounced, hospeece, (house of reception for travellers.) 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 149 

eight feet ; and, sometimes, the drifts accumulate to the height 
of forty feet against the hospice. 

One chamber is devoted to visitors, especially the ladies : 
it may be considered as the drawing-room of the establishment. 
To decorate this room, travellers have presented to the hospice 
prints and drawings ; and even a piano-forte has been added 
to the means of enjoyment here. A cabinet is attached to 
this chamber, which contains collections, made by the monks, 
of the plants and minerals around the Great St. Bernard, and 
antiquities from the ruins of the Temple of Jupiter, which for- 
merly stood on this mountain. These consist of votive tablets 
and figures in bronze and other metals, arms, and coins ; and 
are a great resource to the visitors at the hospice, if the weath- 
er should be unfavorable enough to detain them within its 
walls. 

The perilous passage of these mountains, is more frequently 
undertaken in the winter, than is generally imagined. It is 
difficult to conceive the necessity or urgency of affairs which 
can lead persons, at such a season, through such scenes of 
danger. The travellers are, generally, pedlers, or smugglers, 
who mount the pass from either side, in defiance of the snows, 
and avalanches of these high regions. During the severe cold 
of winter, the snow, at this elevation, forms and falls, like 
dust ; it congeals so soon, and so hard, that the particles do 
not attach and form flakes, when they touch, as in lower 
regions ; and, instead of consolidating beneath the traveller's 
feet, they rise around him in powder, and he sinks to his 
middle. 

These snow-storms, when accompanied by violent winds, 
are often fatal to the poor wretches who encounter them ; 
unable then to trace the path, they wander, and fall over 
precipices. The avalanches, too, take* their share of the 
victims. The summer avalanche is caused by the submelting 
of the snow, which undermines its support; and the mass, 
once set in motion, descends with great violence. The ava- 
lanches of winter are occasioned by the masses of snow accu- 
mulating on the slopes of the mountains, where it is too dry to 
attach firmly; and when the weight of snow exceeds the sup- 
porting resistance of the surface of the ground, it slides off 
into the valley below, with a suddenness and violence, which 
the monks, who described it, compared to the discharge of a 
cannon-ball : these are the sort of avalanches which, in the 
winter, render the approach to the hospice very dangerous. 
Near the convent, the mountains are steep ; and the traveller is 
13* 



150 IiNTRODUCTlON TO THE 

exposed to almost certain destruction, if an avalanche fall, 
whilst he passes ; and the poor wretch, buried beneath the 
mass, is found only when the snow melts, and the summer, 
which to him never returns, discovers the victim in these 
regions of winter. 

Under every circumstance in which it is possible to render 
assistance, the worthy monks of St. Bernard set out upon their 
regularly appointed duties. Undismayed by the spirit of the 
storm, and obeying a higher power, they seek, amidst the 
greatest dangers, the exhausted or overwhelmed traveller ; — 
they are generally accompanied by their dogs. The sagacity 
of these animals is so extraordinary, that they, too, as if con- 
scious of their performing a high duty, will roam alone, the 
day and night through, in those desolate regions, discover the 
victim buried in the snow, and lie on him, and lick him to 
impart warmth. They bear with them some refreshing liqueur, 
around their necks, for the poor traveller whom they may find, 
if he should have still sense enough left to use it ; they then 
bark or howl, — their signals for assistance, — or, if the dis- 
tance be too great, return to seek it. 

The number of resident monks is now twelve : — they all, 
except the principal, work at the common duties of their 
establishment ; they have five or six resident domestics, be- 
sides some at the dairy, and in several other services of the 
hospice. The religious order of the monks on the St. Ber- 
nard, is that of St. Augustin ; of which the distinguishing 
badge is a white narrow band, with an open slit some way 
along the middle. This is passed over the head, and hangs 
like a chain from the shoulders ; the ends are tucked, before 
and behind, into a black broad girdle, which is worn round 
the middle. Their dress is a long cloth tunic, with sleeves 
which fit close. On- the head they wear a pyramid cap, with 
a tuft at the top ; the whole dress is very becoming. 

In reply to some questions which I put to the prior about 
the state of their funds, and the report which had prevailed in 
England, that the absence of Napoleon from the political 
world, had lessened their resources, he informed me that their 
finances were now in a flourishing condition, and that Bona- 
parte rather impoverished than enriched them. It is true that 
he had assisted them with donations ; but his claims upon them 
for the purveyance of his soldiers, had exceeded these benefits : 
— they had had forty men quartered upon them for months 
together ; and 50,000 had passed by the hospice, and been 
assisted, in one year. Now, however, the prior said, their 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 151 

resources were increasing : the peace of Europe enabled those 
strangers to visit the hospice who travelled for pleasure, and 
could afford to aid their funds. Those who can pay, though 
no charge is made, usually deposit something in the box in the 
chapel of the convent ; which is rarely less than the parties 
would have paid at an inn : the poor traveller is always fed 
and lodged gratuitously. 



EXERCISE LXIX. 

END OF CHRISTIAN EDUCATION. W. M Rogers. 

The method of attaining the end of a Christian education, in- 
cludes the tasking and enriching of the mind, in the search 
and acquisition of truth. By truth, we mean that view of 
things, which exists, in the mind of God. The nearest ap- 
proach which we can make to it in this world, in its variety 
and extent, will leave enough to learn for the immortality be- 
yond. Yet what may be known, by the discoveries of the past, 
or the opening developments of the future, we would arrange 
around the creating God as its origin, and bring the mind of 
man and child, to live upon it, not as the fruit of an ingenious 
and infidel spirit, — but as the living bread furnished by a 
Father's hand for the nourishment of the soul. 

There is not a star or flower which we will surrender to 
infidelity. God made them all ; and we have not a fear, that 
when He arranged the stars, his " alphabet of light," and the 
flowers, " the small print" of his creation, he combined them 
into any form of truth at variance with the Bible. 

Let us Christianize science, and refer all things to a creating 
God ; and each truth becomes in one aspect of it religious, and 
is related to every other truth, and to God, as the points of 
a circumference to each other and to their common centre. 
There is a connection between the attributes of the unsearch- 
able One, and the articulations of an insect's wing, — between 
every thing created and the Creator. 

Whatever may be known of the universe, of this world, and 
of man, is but the knowledge of God. Science may select 
and methodize ; but after all, what she tells us of mind or 
matter, is but the truth of God. 

Look, for instance, at that rose : its gracefulness, its fra- 



15*2 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

grance, and its hues, make it meet to deck the chaplet of a 
bride. But is this all it teaches? You may designate its 
class, its order, and its species. But this is not all. Who 
trained its gracefulness, who breathed upon it its fragrancy, 
who touched its leaves with loveliness, — but God ? You 
may trace it to its root, and note its radicles grasping the soil 
for strength and nourishment ; you may watch the circulation 
of its juices, the expansion of its leaf to the sunlight, and the 
wonderful arrangement for continuing its kind ; and when 
you have done, you may call it botany ; — but have you not 
been " thinking the very thoughts of God after him " 1 

Science is nothing else than that arrangement of things 
which God has constituted, or revealed, as in its own nature 
eternal. All truth is religious truth ; and to this noble do- 
main of the soul, a Christian education should introduce us. 



EXERCISE LXX. 
THE VICISSITUDES OF NATURE. Cowper. 

What prodigies can power divine perform 

More grand than it produces, year by year, 

And all in sight of inattentive man ? 

Familiar with the effect, we slight the cause ; 

And in the constancy of nature's course, 

The regular return of genial months, 

And renovation of a faded world, 

All we behold is miracle ; but, seen 

So duly, all is miracle in vain. — 

Where now the vital energy that moved, 

While summer was, the pure and subtile lymph 

Through the imperceptible meandering veins 

Of leaf and flower ? It sleeps ; and the icy touch 

Of unprolific winter has impressed 

A cold stagnation on the intestine tide. 

But let months go round, a few short months, 

And all shall be restored. These naked shoots, 

Barren as lances, among which the wind 

Makes wintry music, sighing as it goes, 

Shall put their graceful foliage on again, 

And more aspiring, and with ampler spread, 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 153 

Shall boast new charms, and more than they have lost. 

Then each, in its peculiar honors clad, 

Shall publish, even to the distant eye, 

Its family and tribe. Laburnum, rich 

In streaming gold ; syringa, ivory pure ; 

The scentless and the scented rose; this red, 

And of an humbler growth, — the other * tall, 

And throwing up into the darkest gloom 

Of neighbouring cypress, or more sable yew, 

Her silver globes, light as the foaming surf 

That the wind severs from the broken wave ; 

The lilach, various in array, now white, 

Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set 

With purple spikes pyramidal ; as if 

Studious of ornament, yet unresolved 

Which hue she most approved, she chose them all ; 

Copious of flowers, the woodbine, pale and wan, 

But well compensating her sickly looks 

With never-cloying odours, early and late ; 

Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm 

Of flowers, like flies clothing her slender rods, 

That scarce a leaf appears ; mezereon, too, 

Though leafless, well attired, and thick beset 

With blushing wreaths, investing every spray ; 

Althea with the purple eye ; the broom, 

Yellow and bright as bullion unalloyed 

Her blossoms ; and, luxuriant above all, 

The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, 

The deep dark green of whose unvarnished leaf 

Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more 

The bright profusion of her scattered stars. — 

These have been, and these shall be in their day ; 

And all this uniform, uncoloured scene 

Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load, 

And flush into variety again. — 

From dearth to plenty, and from death to life, 

Is Nature's progress, when she lectures man 

In heavenly truth ; evincing, as she makes 

The grand transition, that there lives and works 

A soul in all things, and that soul is God. 

The beauties of the wilderness are His, 

That make so gay the solitary place 

* The Guelder-rose. 



154 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms 

That cultivation glories in, are His. 

He sets the bright procession on its way, 

And marshals all the order of the year ; 

He marks the bounds which Winter may not pass, 

And blunts his pointed fury ; in its case, 

Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ, 

Uninjured, with inimitable art ; 

And, ere one flowery season fades and dies, 

Designs the blooming wonders of the next. 



EXERCISE LXXI. 

W O MAN • George B. Emerson. 

The first and necessary relation of woman, is that of daughter. 
From this relation numerous duties arise, for the performance 
of which every woman should be educated. A daughter is 
the natural companion, friend, and stay, of her parents. A 
man leaves his father and mother, and marries into the family 
of his wife. But in our own and other free countries, a wo- 
man, whether single or married, more frequently remains with 
her earliest affections, in or near the mansion of her parents. 
It is to her that they naturally look for the tender affections 
which will soothe them in their declining years. It is for her 
to temper the rough winds of adversity, and render brighter 
the sunshine of prosperity. She is their comforter, physician, 
and nurse. When their voice has become tremulous, and 
their eye dim with age, and the stores of memory have been 
closed, it is for her to bring forth the pleasures of consolation, 
to make the sound of gladness still be heard in their dwelling, 
and to fill it with a cheerful and, — if she have been rightly 
educated, — a holy light. 

I need not speak particularly of the relation of the sister : 
not that I undervalue the importance of her duties ; but because 
I believe that the woman who is well educated for the more 
important ones of daughter and wife, cannot fail to be a faith- 
ful sister and friend. 

We have merely time to glance at the numerous duties of 
the mistress of a family. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 155 

Enter the humblest dwelling under the prudent manage- 
ment of a discreet and well-educated female, and observe the 
simplicity and good taste which pervade it. The wise mistress 
has nothing gaudy in her dress or furniture ; for she is above 
the silly ambition of surpassing her neighbours in show. Her 
own best ornaments are cheerfulness and contentment ; and 
those of her house are neatness, good order and cleanliness, 
which make a plain house and modest apartments seem better 
than they are. She has not the selfish vanity which would 
make her strive to appear above her circumstances. She 
knows what are, and what ought to be, the expenses of her 
family ; and she is not ashamed of her economy. It gives 
her the means of being liberal in her charity ; and hers is a 
charity which reaches round the earth, and embraces the poor 
and unfortunate everywhere. Her domestics, if she have any, 
look to her for advice in doubt, and counsel in difficulties ; 
they respect her judgment, for she has shown herself wise and 
disinterested ; they see that she cares for them, and they have 
felt her sympathy in their sorrows : in return, they make her 
interest their own, anticipate her wishes, and show the will- 
ingness of their service by their cheerful alacrity. 

She knows the virtue of pure air, and the excellence of 
scrupulous cleanliness ; she can judge of the qualities of 
wholesome food, and knows how easily it may be poisoned by 
careless or unskilful cooking. Her knowledge and care 
shine in the happy and healthful faces of her children. No 
harsh sounds are heard in her dwelling ; for her gentleness 
communicates itself to all around her. Her husband hastens 
home ; and whatever may have been his fortune abroad, enters 
his house with a cheerful step. He has experienced the pleas- 
ure of seeing kind faces brightening at his approach ; and, 
contented with what he finds at home, has no inducement to 
seek for happiness abroad. Nor is she satisfied with consult- 
ing the present gratification of those around her. By her 
example and gentle influence, she leads them onward to what 
is better and more enduring hereafter. Few know the noise- 
less and real happiness which such a woman sheds around 
her, as if she were the sun of a little world. 



156 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

EXERCISE LXXIL 

SILENCE. Anon. 

There is no sound borne on the wind, 
From thronged plain or haunted stream, 

Which comes not o'er the peaceful mind 
So filled with sweetness, it might seem 

A language lent it, to express 

Its own unuttered thankfulness. 

The lowing of the cheerful herd, 
The bleating of the gentle flocks, 

The soft notes of the timid bird, 

The chamois' call among the rocks, — 

Are all with joy too richly fraught 

For messengers of human thought. 

The rustling corn upon the hills, 
That tells of golden harvests near ; 

The tinkling of the little rills, 

Pouring their waters bright and clear ; 

The thunder pealing through the sky ; 

The echo's long and deep reply, — 

The whispering of the winds, which shakes 
The fragile leaf upon its stem ; 

The dashing of the flood, which makes 
The cataract's foaming diadem ; — 

These are the envoys by which we 

Hold converse with the Deity. 

But Silence, solemn, deep, serene, 

Which makes its presence felt abroad ; 

The atmosphere, which spreads between 
Us and the omnipresent God ; 

When nought replieth to our call, 

But our own voice's echoing fall ; — 

Its influence through the earth and sky 
Succeedeth to the words of prayer, 

As if an answer from on high 

Were stealing through the upper air, — 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 157 

A voice, which mortal might not hear, „ 
Were breathing on the inward ear. 

And night, the starry night, which broods 

In shadows over wood and glen, 
In silvery beams upon the floods, 

In rest upon the homes of men, 
Which then, beneath the darkened sky, 
Like " cities of the silent" lie,* 

When this warm, throbbing life puts on 

The calm similitude of death, 
We know not how the Eternal One 

Looks down upon this world beneath ; 
What works of grace, or love, or power, 
He worketh at that silent hour ! 

God speaks not to us from the sky, 

Nor wakes us by a prophet's call ; 
No awful warning meets our eye, 

As the hand-writing on the wall : 
He spreads no signal to our sight, — 
A cloud by day, a fire by night ; 

But Silence, solemn, deep, serene, 

Which makes His presence felt abroad, — 

This is the mean which lies between 
Our spirits and the living God. 

On Him Creation's voices call, 

By this alone He answereth all. 



EXERCISE LXXIII. 

THE SLEEPER, Mrs. Hemans. 

Oh! lightly, lightly tread! — 

A holy thing is sleep, 
On the worn spirit shed, 

And eyes that wake to weep. 

* The Affghans call burial-grounds, " Cities of the Silent. 1 
14 



158 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

A holy thing from Heaven, 
A gracious dewy cloud, — 

A covering mantle given 
The weary to enshroud. 

Oh ! lightly, lightly tread ! 

Revere the pale, still brow, 
The meekly-drooping head, 

The long hair's willowy flow. 

Ye know not what ye do, 

That call the slumberer back, 

From the world unseen by you 
Unto life's dim faded track. 

Her soul is far away, — 

In her childhood's land, perchance, 
Where her young sisters play, 

Where shines her mother's glance. 

Some old, sweet, native sound 
Her spirit haply weaves ; 

A harmony profound 

Of woods with all their leaves ; 

A murmur of the sea, 

A laughing tone of streams : — 

Long may her sojourn be 
In the music-land of dreams ! 

Each voice of love is there, 
Each gleam of beauty fled, 

Each lost one still more fair ; — 
Oh ! lightly, lightly tread ! 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 159 



EXERCISE LXXIV. 

AN ENGLISH BOARDING SCHOOL IN A COUNTRY 
TOWN. Abridged from Dickens. 

Miss Monflathers, (governess ;) Assistant Teachers ; Miss 
Edwards ; Young Ladies ; Nell. 

[Nell presents a packet of circulars of the Wax-work Exhi- 
bition, to Miss Monflathers, as the governess, her assistants 
and pupils, are setting out on their morning walk.] 

Miss Monflathers. You're the wax-work child, — are 
you not? 

Nell. Yes, ma'am. 

Miss M. And don't you think you must be a very wicked 
little child, to be a wax-work child, at all ? Don't you know, 
that it's very naughty and unfeminine, and a perversion of 
the properties wisely and benignantly transmitted to us, with 
expansive powers, to be roused from their dormant state, 
through the medium of cultivation? Don't you feel how 
naughty it is of you, to be a wax-work child, when you might 
have the proud consciousness of assisting, to the extent of 
your infant powers, the manufactures of your country; of 
improving your mind by the constant contemplation of the 
steam-engine ; and of earning a comfortable and independent 
subsistence, of from two-and-nine-pence to three shillings a 
week ? Don't you know that the harder you are at work, the 
happier you are ? 

Teacher. " How doth the little busy — " 

Miss M. Eh? Who said that? " The little busy bee," 
is applicable only to genteel children. 

" In books, or work, or healthful play," 

is quite right, as far as they are concerned ; and the work 
means painting on velvet, fancy needle-work or embroidery. 
In such cases as these, [pointing to Nell,] and in the case of 
all poor people's children, we should read it thus : 

" In work, work, work — in work alway 
Let my first years be past, 
That I may give for every day 
Some good account at last." 

Teachers and Pupils. Oh ! how beautiful ! 



160 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

[Nell drops her handkerchief; Miss Edwards picks it up, 
and hands it to her.] 

3Iiss 31. It was Miss Edwards who did that, I know. 
Now, I am sure that was Miss Edwards. Is it not a most re- 
markable thing, Miss Edwards, that you have an attachment 
to the lower classes, which always draws you to their sides ? 
or, rather, is it not a most extraordinary thing that all I say 
and do will not wean you from propensities which your ori- 
ginal station in life has unhappily rendered habitual to you, — 
you extremely vulgar-minded girl ? 

3Iiss E. I really intended no harm, ma'am. It was a 
momentary impulse, indeed. 

Miss M. An impulse ! I wonder that you presume to 
speak of impulses to me — I am astonished. — 

Both Teachers. I am astonished ! — 

Miss M. I suppose it is an impulse which induces you to 
take the part of every grovelling and debased person that 
comes in your way. 

Both Teachers. I suppose so. 

Miss M. But I would have you know, Miss Edwards, that 
you cannot be permitted, — if it be only for the sake of pre- 
serving a proper example and decorum in this establishment, 
— that you cannot be permitted, to fly in the face of your 
superiors in this exceedingly gross manner. If you have no 
reason to feel a becoming pride before wax-work children, 
there are young ladies here who have, and you must either 
defer to those young ladies, or leave the establishment, Miss 
Edwards. — You will not take the air to-day, Miss Edwards. 
Have the goodness to retire to your own room, and not to 
leave it without permission. 

[Miss E. retires.] 

Ah ! she has passed me without any salute ! She has 
actually passed me without the slightest acknowledgment of 
my presence! — [To Nell.] As for you, you wicked child! 
tell your mistress that if she presumes to take the liberty of 
sending to me any more, I shall write to the legislative author- 
ities, and have her put in the stocks, or compelled to do pen- 
ance in a white sheet ; and you may depend upon it that you 
shall certainly experience the treadmill, if you dare to come 
here again. — Now ladies, on ! 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 161 



EXERCISE LXXV. 

MAY MORNING. Anon. 

It is May, it is May ! 

And all earth is gay ; 

For at last old Winter is quite away. 

He lingered awhile on his cloak of snow, 

To see the delicate primrose blow, — 

He saw it, and made no longer stay ; — 

And now it is May, it is May ! 

It is May, it is May ! 

And we bless the day 

When we first delightedly so can say : 

April had beams amidst her showers, 

Yet bare were her gardens, and cold were her bowers ; 

And her frown would blight, and her smile betray. 

It is May, it is May ! 

And the slenderest spray 

Holds up a few leaves to the ripening ray ; 

And the birds sing fearlessly out on high, 

For there is not a cloud in the calm blue sky ; 

And the villagers join the roundelay, — 

For oh ! it is May, it is May ! 

It is May, it is May ! 

And the flowers obey 

The leaves which alone are more bright than they ; 

Yet they spring at the touch of the sun, 

And opening their sweet eyes one by one, 

In a language of beauty, seem all to say, — 

And of perfume, — it is May, it is May ! 



162 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

EXERCISE LXXVI. 

THE MAY QUEEN. Tennyson. 
[An example of joy, as expressed in loud and lively tones.] 

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear ; 
To-morrow will be the happiest time of all the blithe new year, — 
Of all the glad new year, mother, the maddest, merriest day ; 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

There's many a black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine : 

There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline ; 

But none so fair as little Alice, in all the land, they say ; 

So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, 

If ye do not call me loud when the day begins to break : 

But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay ; 

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

As I came up the valley, whom think ye should I see, 

But Robin, leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree ? 

He thought of that sharp look, mother, 1 gave him yesterday, — 

But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white ; 

And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash o' light. 

They call me cruel-hearted ; but I care not what they say, — 

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

They say he's dying all for love ; but that can never be : 

They say his heart is breaking, mother : — what is that to me ? 

There's many a bolder lad will woo me any summer day ; 

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

Little Effie shall go with me, to-morrow, to the green ; 

And you'll be there too, mother, to see me made the Queen ; 

For the shepherd lads on every side will come from far away ; 

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers, 
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers ; 
And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows 

gray; — 

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

The night winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow grass ; 
And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass : 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 163 

There will not be a drop o' rain the whole o' the livelong day; — 
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear ; — 
To-morrow will be the happiest time of all the glad new year : 
To-morrow will be, of all the year, the maddest, merriest day ; 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 



EXERCISE LXXVII. 



NEW-YEAR 5 S EVE. Id 



[An example of pathos, as expressed in soft, low, slow, and 
plaintive tones.] 

If you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother dear ; 

For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New Year. 

It is the last New Year that I shall ever see, 

Then ye may lay me low i' the mould, and think no more o' me. 

To-night I saw the sun set : he set, and left behind 
The good Old Year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind ; 
And the New Year's coming up, mother ; — but I shall never see 
The may upon the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree. 

Last May, we made a crown of flowers : we had a merry day ; 
Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May ; 
And we danced about the maypole, and in the hazel copse, 
Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white chimney-tops. 

There's not a flower on all the hills : the frost is on the pane : 
I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again : 
I wish the snow would melt, and the sun come out on high ; — 
I long to see a flower so before the day I die. 

The building rook will caw from the windy tall elm-tree, 

And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea ; 

And the swallow will come back again with summer o'er the wave ;- 

But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave. 

Upon the chancel casement, and upon that grave o' mine, 
In the early morning the summer sun will shine, 
Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill, 
When you are warm asleep, mother, and all the world is still. 

When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light, 
Ye'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night ; 



164 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool, 

On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool. 

Ye'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade ; 
And ye'll come, sometimes, and see me, where I am lowly laid. 
I shall not forget ye, mother — I shall hear ye when ye pass, 
With your foot above my head, in the long and pleasant grass. 

I have been wild and wayward, but ye'll forgive me now ; 
Ye'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow : 
Nay, nay, — ye must not weep, nor let your grief be wild ; 
Ye should not fret for me, mother ; ye have another child. 

If I can, I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place ; 
Though ye'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face ; 
Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what ye say, 
And be often — often with ye, when ye think Tm far away. 

Good-night, good-night ! — when I have said good-night for evermore, 
And ye see me carried out from the threshold of the door, 
Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green : 
She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been. 

She'll find my garden tools upon the granary floor ; — 
Let her take 'em : they are hers : I shall never garden more : 
But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rosebush that I set 
About the parlour window, and the box of mignonette. 

Good-night, sweet mother ! call me when it begins to dawn. — 
All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn ; 
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New Year ; — 
So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear ! 



EXERCISE LXXVIII. 



JUNE. Howitt 



" June is the very carnival of nature ; " and she is prodi- 
gal of her luxuries. It is luxury to walk abroad, indulging 
every sense with sweetness, loveliness, and harmony. It is 
luxury to stand beneath the forest-trees, when all is basking 
and still, at noon, and to see the landscape suddenly darken, 
the black and tumultuous clouds assemble, as at a signal, — 
to hear the awful thunder crash upon the listening air, — and 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 165 

then to mark the glorious bow rise on the lucid rear of the 
tempest, — the sun laugh jocundly abroad, and 

" Every bathed leaf and blossom fair 
Pour out their soul to the delicious air." 

It is luxury to haunt the gardens of old-fashioned cottages, in 
the morning, when the bees are flitting forth with a rejoicing 
hum ; or at eve, when the honeysuckle and sweet-brier min- 
gle their spirit with the breeze. It is luxury to plunge into 
the cool river ; and, if ever we were tempted to turn anglers, it 
would be now. To steal away into a quiet valley, by a wind- 
ing stream, buried, completely buried, in fresh grass ; the 
foam-like flowers of the meadow-sweet, the crimson loose- 
strife, and the large blue geranium nodding beside us ; the 
dragon-fly and king-fisher glancing to and fro ; the trees above 
casting their flickering shadows on the stream ; and one of 
our ten thousand volumes of delectable literature in our pock- 
et : then, indeed, could we be a most patient angler, — con- 
tent though we caught not a single fin. What luxurious im- 
ages would there float through the mind ! Gray could form no 
idea of heaven superior to lying on a sofa, and reading novels ; 
but it is in the flowery lap of June that we can best climb 

" Up to the sunshine of uncumbered ease." 

How delicious, too, are the evenings become ! The damps 
and frosts of spring are past. The earth is dry. The night 
air is balmy and refreshing. The glow-worm has lit her lamp. 
Mount a horse, when the business of the day is over, thou 
who art pent in city toils, and ride among the newly-shot corn, 
along the grassy and hay-scented fields. Linger beside the sol- 
itary woodland. The gale of evening is stirring its mighty 
and umbrageous branches. The wild rose, with its flowers of 
most delicate odour, and of every tint, from the deepest blush 
to the purest pearl ; the wreathed and luscious honeysuckle, 
and the verdurous snowy-flowered elder, embellish every way- 
side, or light up the most shadowy region of the wood. Field 
peas and beans, in full flower, add their spicy aroma. The 
red clover is, at once, splendid, and profuse of its honeyed 
breath. The young grain is bursting into ear. The awned 
heads of rye, wheat, and barley, and the nodding panicles of 
oats, shoot forth from the green and glaucous stems in broad, 
level, and waving expanses of present beauty and future 
promise. The very waters are garlanded with flowers. The 
elegant flowering rush, and the queen of the waters, the pure 



106 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

and splendid white lily, invest every stream and lonely mere 
with grace. The sunsets of this month are commonly glori- 
ous. The mighty luminary goes down pavilioned amidst 
clouds of every hue, — the splendour of burnished gold, the 
deepest mazarin blue, fading away, in the higher heavens, to 
the palest azure ; and an ocean of purple shadow, flung over 
the twilight of woods, or the far-stretching and lovely land- 
scape. The heart of the spectator is touched ; it is melted and 
rapt into dreams of past and present, — pure, elevated, and 
tinged with a poetic tenderness, which can never awake 
amidst the crowd of mortals or of books. 



EXERCISE LXXIX. 

MARKET OF ALGIERS. Campbell. 

I account for my continuing to be interested in this place, 
only by the novelty of objects which it presents. The diver- 
sity of the people and of their costume, is not only amusing to 
the eye, but it stirs up a curiosity in the mind, respecting the 
history of so many races, and the causes of their concourse. 
The " Grande Place" affords the only tolerable promenade. 

Here, at the market-time of a morning, you see not only the 
various people, but the animal and vegetable productions of 
nature displayed in rich picturesqueness. It has been a perfect 
treat to me, for several days, to lounge here, before breakfast. 

How I long for the pencil of a Flemish painter, to delineate 
to you the human figures of all complexions and dresses ! — 
the turbaned Moor, the Jew, with his sly face, and his spouse 
Rebecca, with her yard-long headdress behind her. I could 
not pass even the Jew boys that blacken shoes, without being 
struck by the nimbleness of their tongues, and the comic play 
of their countenances. They all speak French, and seem the 
happiest creatures on earth ; excepting, perhaps, the half- 
naked negroes, who are always chattering and laughing 
loudest, in proportion to the scantiness of duds upon their 
backs. — I omit the Europeans; for they rather spoil the 
picture. 

Peculiarly striking are the looks of the Kabyles,* the abo- 

* Pronounced, Kabilays. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 167 

riginal highlanders of Barbary, who have, all of them, a fierce 
air, and, many of them, forms that would not disgrace the 
grenadier company of a regiment of Scottish highlanders. 

Taller, and generally more slender, are the Arabs, de- 
scended from those who conquered the country in the seventh 
century. They are distinguishable by vivid black eyes, 
shaped like an almond laid sidewise ; and though many of 
them look wretched and squalid, you see among them those 
whose better drapery and forms, and fine Old Testament 
heads, give them a truly patriarchal appearance. 

I thought myself looking on a living image of antiquity, as 
I stood this morning beside a majestic old Arab, whilst he 
made the camels he had led into the market kneel before 
him, to be unloaded of their enormous cargoes of herbs and 
fruits. I felt " my very een enriched " at the sight of the 
vegetable treasures around me, glowing with all the colours of 
the rainbow, — splendid heaps of purple grapes in one pan- 
nier, and oranges, peaches, lemons, and pomegranates in 
another. Here were spread out, in piles, the huge and golden- 
hued melons and pompions, and there the white garlic, and 
" the scarlet and green pepper-pods," together with the brown 
melogines,* an excellent pot vegetable, in size, shape, and 
colour resembling a polished cocoa-nut. 

Altogether, the vegetable profusion here beats even that 
of Covent Garden, f I was particularly astonished at the 
cheapness of the Barbary fig. N It is a fruit entirely distinct 
from the true fig, and, though sweet, is insipidly flavoured ; 
but still it is palatable and nutritious. I ceased to be sur- 
prised at its cheapness, when I found that it grows wild on 
the roadside, and may be had for the trouble of gathering. 
It is not a universal production, over Barbary ; but, where it 
grows, the poorer Arabs live on it almost entirely, during the 
weeks when it is in season. It is about the size of an ordi- 
nary lemon, and grows on the cactus-bush. This plant, the 
cactus, does not assume the shape of a tree, till its leaves, 
which are about ten inches long, and an inch thick, twist 
themselves together into a trunk. It affords the singular 
phenomenon of leaf springing out of leaf. The leaves are 
thickly covered with prickles, which, when they get into the 
flesh, are with difficulty coaxed out of it. It is much used 
for hedges about Algiers. 

* Pronounced, maylozheens. t The vegetable market of London. 



168 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

EXERCISE LXXX. 
THE YOUTHFUL POET. Beattie. 

Lo ! where the stripling, rapt in wonder, roves 

Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine, 
And sees on high, amidst the encircling groves, 

From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine ; 

While waters, woods, and winds, in concert join, 
And echo swells the chorus to the skies. — 

Would Edwin this majestic scene resign 
For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies? — 
Ah ! no : he better knows great Nature's charms to prize. 

And oft he traced the uplands, to survey, — 

When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn, — 
The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain gray, 

And lake, dim gleaming on the smoky lawn ; 

Far to the west the long, long vale withdrawn, 
Where twilight loves to linger for a while ; 

And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn, 
And villager abroad at early toil. — 
But lo ! the sun appears ; — and heaven, earth, ocean, smile. 

And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb, 
When all in mist the world below was lost : 

What dreadful pleasure, there to stand sublime, 
Like shipwrecked mariner on desert coast, 
And view the enormous waste of vapour tossed 

In billows, lengthening to the horizon round, — 

Now scooped in gulfs, with mountains now embossed, — 

And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound, 
Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound ! 

When the long-sounding curfew, from afar, 
Loaded with loud lament the lonely gale, 

Young Edwin, lighted by the evening star, 

Lingering and listening, wandered down the vale : 
There would he dream of graves, and corses pale, 

And ghosts, that to the charnel-dungeon throng, 
And drag a length of clanking chain, and wail, 

Till silenced by the owl's terrific song, 
Or blast that shrieks by fits the shuddering aisles along. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 169 

Or, when the setting moon, in crimson dyed, 

Hung o'er the dark and melancholy deep, 
To haunted stream, remote from man he hied, 

Where fays of yore their revels wont to keep ; 

And there let Fancy roam at large, till sleep 
A vision brought to his entranced sight : 

And first, a wildly-murmuring wind 'gan creep 
Shrill to his ringing ear ; then tapers bright, 
With instantaneous gleam, illumed the vault of Night. 

Anon, in view a portal's blazoned arch 

Arose ; the trumpet bids the valves unfold ; 

And forth a host of little warriors march, 

Grasping the diamond lance, and targe of gold : 
Their look was gentle, their demeanour bold, 

And green their helms, and green their silk attire ; 
And here and there, right venerably old, 

The long-robed minstrels wake the warbling wire, 
And some with mellow breath the martial pipe inspire. 

With merriment, and song, and timbrels clear, 

A troop of dames from myrtle-bovvers advance ; 
The little warriors doff the targe and spear ; 

And loud enlivening strains provoke the dance ; 

They meet, they dart away, they wheel askance ; 
To right, to left, they thrid the flying maze ; 

Now bound aloft, with vigorous spring, then glance 
Rapid along : — with many-coloured rays 
Of tapers, gems, and gold, the echoing forests blaze. 



EXERCISE LXXXI. 

THE APPROPRIATE SPHERE OF WOMAN. Muzzey. 

I would name first, what is incontestably one part of the 
sphere of woman, — home. She may act in other situations, 
in this she must. Providence whispers to her, in the cradle, 
the divine monition, " Be a kind, obedient, dutiful daughter." 
And if, to the latest moment of her life, she heed not this 
solemn charge, she is false, not only to her own sex, but to 
man and to God. 

The Sister, by what other virtues can she expiate a neglect 
15 



170 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

of the claims of her beautiful relation ? Let her be a moni- 
tor to the younger, and receive kindly the counsels of the 
elder, in her paternal circle ; and how does she grace a sweet 
portion of her appropriate sphere ! Nor will I omit to say, 
that, whether united to another by the sacred bond of mar- 
riage or not, if she be a true woman, she is instinct with those 
inward charms, and Christian dispositions, which qualify her 
for that responsible connection. Intelligence, wisdom, disin- 
terested affections, a mind to advise, a heart rich with sympa- 
thies, and a hand to aid, — these should find in her their 
chosen resting-place. 

And what Mother can fill the sphere ordained for her sex, 
if she be not a devoted parent? Possessed of this trait, no 
woman can fail of honour and usefulness. She who looks on 
her race with a maternal interest, who feels that God hath 
made of one blood all the children of the earth, and who lives 
not for herself but her neighbour, she is of the genuine female 
nobility. There is in her character a grandeur, — let her 
dwell in " Alpine solitude, 5 ' — before which the admired of 
all admirers, — the gay butterfly, whose wings open and close, 
with the sun of adulation, shrinks into an object of pity. 

Next to home, I should cite private beneficence, the scenes 
of charity, and the chamber of sickness, as within the sphere 
of woman. Let her not only minister to the needs of her own 
fireside, but put on the sandals of mercy, and go forth to the 
bed of suffering, and the dwelling of poverty. 

Does she court distinction and applause ? There are those 
who would rend the air with shouts, did she pass as a queen, 
in some gilded chariot ; or clap their hands at the strains of 
her eloquence, in crowded halls. But how few are these, 
compared with those who commend her who is an angel of 
love, in the dark hours of life ! What true woman would not 
prefer that the statue erected to her honour, should be of the 
delicate ivory, rather than of brass, that emblem of boldness? 



EXERCISE LXXXII. 

THE SOUND OF THE SEA. Mrs. Hemans. 

Thou art sounding on, thou mighty sea, 

Forever and the same! 
The ancient rocks yet ring to thee, 

Whose thunders nought can tame. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 171 

Oh ! many a glorious voice is gone 

From the rich bovvers of earth ; 
And hushed is many a lovely one 

Of mournfulness or mirth. 

The Dorian flute that sighed of yore 

Along thy wave, is still ; 
The harp of Judah peals no more 

On Z ion's awful hill. 

And Memnon's lyre hath lost the chord 

That breathed the mystic tone ; 
And the songs, at Rome's high triumphs poured, 

Are with her eagles flown. 

And mute the Moorish horn, that rang 

O'er stream and mountain free ; 
And the hymn the leagued crusaders sang, 

Hath died on Galilee. 

But thou art swelling on, thou deep, 

Through many an olden clime, 
Thy billowy anthem, ne'er to sleep 

Until the close of time. 

Thou liftest up thy solemn voice 

To every wind and sky ; 
And all our earth's green shores rejoice 

In that one harmony. 

It fills the noontide's calm profound, 

The sunset's heaven of gold ; 
And the still midnight hears the sound, 

Even as when first it rolled. 

Let there be silence, deep and strange, 

Where sceptred cities rose ! 
Thou speak'st of One who doth not change ; — 

So may our hearts repose. 



172 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

EXERCISE LXXXIII. 
VOICES OF SUMMER. N.P.Willis. 

It is not mere poetry to talk of the " voices of summer." 
It is the daytime of the year ; and its myriad influences are 
audibly at work. Even by night you may lay your ear to 
the ground, and hear that faintest of murmurs, the sound of 
growing things. I used to think, when I was a child, that it 
was fairy music. 

If you have been used to rising early, you have not for- 
gotten how the stillness of the night seems increased by the 
timid note of the first bird. It is the only time when I would 
lay a finger on the lip of nature ; — the deep hush is so very 
solemn. By and by, however, the birds are all up ; and the 
peculiar holiness of the hour declines; — but what a world 
of music does the sun shine on! — the deep lowing of the 
cattle, blending in with the capricious warble of a thousand 
of God's happy creatures, and the stir of industry coming on 
the air, like the undertones of a choir, and the voice of man, 
heard in the distance over all, like a singer among instru- 
ments, giving them meaning and language ! And then, if 
your ear is delicate, you have minded how all these sounds 
grew softer and sweeter, as the exhalations of dew floated up, 
and the vibrations loosened in the thin air. 

You should go out, some morning in June, and listen to 
the notes of the birds. They express, far more than our 
own, the characters of their owners. From the scream of 
the vulture and the eagle, to the low cooing of the dove, they 
are all modified by their modes of living, and their conse- 
quent dispositions. With the small birds, the voice seems to 
be but an outpouring of gladness ; and it is pleasant to see 
that, without one articulate word, it is so sweet a gift to 
them. It seems a necessary vent to their joy of existence, 
and, I believe in my heart, that a dumb bird would die of its 
imprisoned fulness. 

Nature seems never so utterly still to me, as in the depth 
of a summer afternoon. The heat has driven in the birds ; 
and the leaves hang motionless on the trees ; and no creature 
has the heart, in that faint sultriness, to utter a sound. The 
snake sleeps on the rock ; and the frog lies breathing in the 
pool ; and even the murmur that is heard at night, is inaudi- 
ble ; for the herbage droops beneath the sun ; and the seed 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 173 

has no strength to burst its covering. The world is still; 
and the pulses beat languidly. It is a time for sleep. 

But if you would hear one of nature's most various and 
delicate harmonies, lie down in the edge of the wood, when 
the evening breeze begins to stir ; and listen to its coming. 
It touches first the silver foliage of the birch ; and the slightly 
hung leaves, at its merest breath, will lift and rustle, like a 
thousand tiny wings; and then it creeps up the tall fir; and 
the fine tassels send out a sound like a low whisper ; and as 
the oak feels its influence, the thick leaves stir heavily, and a 
deep tone comes sullenly out, like the echo of a far-off bas- 
soon. They are all wind-harps of different power ; and, as 
the breeze strengthens and sweeps equally over them all, 
their united harmony has a wonderful grandeur and beauty. 

Then, what is more soothing than the dropping of the rain? 
You should have slept in a garret, to know how it can lull, 
and bring dreams. How I have lain, when a boy, and list- 
ened to the fitful patter of the large drops upon the roof, and 
held my breath, as it grew fainter and fainter, till it ceased 
utterly, and I heard nothing but the rushing of the strong 
gust, and the rattling of the panes ! — I used to say over my 
prayers, and think of the apples I had stolen, then ! 

But were you ever out fishing upon a lake, in a smart 
shower ? It is like the playing of musical glasses. The 
drops ring out with a clear bell-like tinkle, following each 
other sometimes so closely that it resembles the winding of 
a distant horn ; and then, in the momentary intervals, the 
bursting of the thousand tiny bubbles comes stealthily on 
your ear, more like the recollection of a sound than a distinct 
murmur. Not that I fish, — I was ever a milky-hearted 
boy, — and had a foolish notion that there was pain in the 
restless death of those panting and beautiful creatures; but 
I loved to go out with the old men, when the day set in with 
rain, and lie dreamily over the gunwale, listening to the 
changes of which I have spoken. It had a quieting effect 
upon my temper, and stilled, for a while, the uneasiness of 
that vague longing, that is like a fever, at a boy's heart. 



15* 



174 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

EXERCISE LXXXIV. 

DIRGE. Collins. 

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb 

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring 
Each opening sweet, of earliest bloom, 

And rifle all the breathing spring. 

No wailing ghost shall dare appear, 
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove ; 

But shepherd lads assemble here, 
And youthful virgins own their love. 

No withered witch shall here be seen, 
No goblins lead their nightly crew ; 

The female fays shall haunt the green, 
And dress thy grave with pearly dew. 

The redbreast, oft, at evening's hours, 
Shall kindly lend his little aid, 

With hoary moss, and gathered flowers, 
To deck the ground where thou art laid. 

When howling winds, and beating rain, 
In tempests shake thy sylvan cell ; 

Or 'midst the chase on every plain, 

The tender thought on thee shall dwell : 

Each lonely scene shall thee restore, 
For thee the tear be duly shed ; 

Beloved, till life can charm no more ; 
And mourned, till Pity's self be dead. 



EXERCISE LXXXV. 

WOMAN. Economy of Human Life. 

Give ear, fair daughter of love, to the instructions of pru- 
dence ; and let the precepts of truth sink deep in thy heart : 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 175 

so shall the charms of thy mind add lustre to the elegance of 
thy form ; and thy beauty, like the rose it resembleth, shall 
retain its sweetness when its bloom is withered. 

Who is she that winneth the heart of man, that subdueth 
him to love, and reigneth in his breast ? — Lo ! yonder she 
walketh in maiden sweetness, with innocence in her mind, and 
modesty on her cheek. Her hand seeketh employment ; her 
foot delighteth not in gadding abroad. She is clothed with 
neatness, she is fed with temperance ; humility and meekness 
are as a crown of glory circling her head. 

On her tongue dwelleth music ; the sweetness of honey 
floweth from her lips. Decency is in all her words ; in her 
answers are mildness and truth. Submission and obedience 
are the lessons of her life ; and peace and happiness are her 
reward. 

Before her steps walketh Prudence, and Virtue attendeth at 
her right hand. Her eye speaketh softness and love ; but Dis- 
cretion, with a sceptre, sitteth on her brow. 

The tongue of the licentious is dumb in her presence : the 
awe of her virtue keepeth them silent. When scandal is 
busy, and the fame of her neighbour is tossed from tongue to 
tongue, if charity and good-nature open not her mouth, the 
finger of silence resteth on her lip. Her breast is the man- 
sion of goodness; and therefore she suspecteth no evil in 
others. 

Happy were the man that should make her his wife ; happy 
the child that shall call her mother. She presideth in the 
house ; and there is peace : she commandeth with judgment, 
and is obeyed. She ariseth in the morning, she considers her 
affairs, and appointeth to every one their proper business. 
The care of the family is her whole delight ; to that alone she 
applieth her study ; and elegance, with frugality, is seen in 
her mansion. — The prudence of her management is an 
honour to her husband ; and he heareth her praise with a 
secret delight. 

She informeth the minds of her children with wisdom ; she 
fashioneth their manners from the example of her own good- 
ness. The word of her mouth is the law of their youth ; the 
motion of her eye commandeth their obedience. She speaketh, 
and her servants fly ; she pointeth, and the thing is done : for 
the law of love is in their hearts ; and her kindness addeth 
wings to their feet. 

In prosperity, she is not puffed up ; in adversity, she 
healeth the wounds of fortune with patience. The troubles 



176 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

of her husband are alleviated by her counsels, and sweetened 
by her endearments ; he putteth his heart in her bosom and 
receiveth comfort. Happy is the man that has made her his 
wife ; happy the child that calleth her mother. 



EXERCISE LXXXVI. 

HOPE THE FRIEND OF THE MARINER. Campbell. 

*•* 

Angel of life ! thy glittering wings explore 
Earth's loneliest bounds, and ocean's wildest shore. 
Lo ! to the wintry winds the pilot yields 
His bark, careering o'er unfathomed fields; 
Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar, 
Where Andes, giant of the western star, 
With meteor-standard to the winds unfurled, 
Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world ! 

Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles, 
On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles : 
Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, 
From wastes that slumber in eternal snow ; 
And waft, across the wave's tumultuous roar, 
The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore. 

Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, 
Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form ! 
Rocks, waves, and winds, the shattered bark delay ; 
Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away. 

But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep, 
And sing to charm the spirit of the deep : 
Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole, 
Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul ; 
His native hills that rise in happier climes, 
The grot that heard his song of other times, 
His cottage home, his bark of slender sail, 
His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossomed vale, 
Rush on his thought ; he sweeps before the wind, 
Treads the loved shore he sighed to leave behind, 
Meets at each step a friend's familiar face, 
And flies at last to Helen's long embrace, — 
Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear, 
And clasps with many a sigh his children dear ! 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 177 

While, long-neglected, but at length caressed, — 
His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest, 
Points to the master's eyes, (where'er they roam,) 
His wistful face, and whines a welcome home. 



EXERCISE LXXXVIL 

ALL-HALLOW EVE IN WALES. Anon. 

Old festival days, with their games and merriments, are 
passing into forgetfulness in England. Not so in Wales : — 
the people are not there worn into the smoothness of general 
society, by intercourse with large towns. Hence v all these 
festivals are there kept up with their ancient glee and fresh- 
ness. Old Polly Lewis would as soon pass over Christmas 
Day itself as All-hallow Eve. 

It is now All-hallow Eve ; and, twenty times during the day, 
has every nook and corner of her ample farm-kitchen been 
swept and dusted, the hearth cleaned up, the crockery-ware 
and kettles and pans washed and rubbed till they shine again. 
The clock looks brighter, and ticks more sharply, than ever 
clock ticked before. Evergreens are spread here and there, as 
at Christmas, and tastefully intermingled with the china and 
kitchen ware on the shelves. 

It is now twilight ; and Polly's vigour becomes supernatural. 
The huge bowl is installed on the black and shining oak 
table ; the hearth is built up with logs ; and the fire blazes 
most cheeringly, through the ample range of the capacious 
chimney. What a store of apples and raisins, and tea, and 
hot cakes ! Mistress and maids at length sit down, and watch 
the clock and the weather. The clock shows that the time is 
come for the arrival of the visitors. It is a blustrous night, 
which only renders the light of the blazing wood-fire still 
more cheerful. 

At length, a tap at the door, — and Miss Lizzy Jones enters ; 
a pretty, smiling lass, accompanied, of course, by her beau, a 
fat ruddy-cheeked Welsh youth. Next comes Mr. Thomas 
Shenkin, the tailor, and his sister, a still bonnier and plumper 
lass ; then a succession of farmers with their wives and daugh- 
ters. Next, the nursery-maid and house-maid from the " Hall," 
as smart as ribands and new gowns can make them. They are 



178 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

escorted by the footman in livery, who looks as great as the 
Duke of Wellington receiving the Queen on parade. Next 
pretty Rachel, the beauty of the village, accompanied also by 
her beau, William, the young carpenter. 

The room is now full ; and the sports begin. The first of 
them is jumping for the apple, — a large apple suspended, by 
a string, from the bacon-rack in the middle of the ceiling. Each 
of the young men jumps in turn : most of them miss it ; and 
some of them get a fall, which sets the company in a roar. 
Young William at last gets a good bite out of it; and his 
reward is the apple itself, and a kiss from the lass he likes 
best, of course his own Rachel. 

After jumping for apples, as long as apples could make them 
jump for joy, the next sport comes. A tub is filled with water, 
into which a sixpence is dropped ; and each of the young men, 
in turn, dips his head into the tub, and again excites the roar 
of the company, by his failure and queer looks. One of them, 
at length, gets the sixpence ; and this sport ends. 

Next, follow the tea and cakes, and the merry rustic jokes 
and the simple gallantry which they produce. Next, the was- 
sail bowl, composed of ale, spices, fruits, mixed with wine, 
and a due portion of some stronger liquor ; roast apples and 
sweet cakes floating at the top. 

All this over, " Well," says old Polly, " let us now see who 
will be spared for next ' Hallow-eve ! ' " She takes a fine smooth 
nut, and throws it into the fire. She gazes at it with a smile 
of delight : — " Yes, I may reckon upon another merry meet- 
ing in these old walls." The smart footman throws his into 
the fire ; it dies without any blaze : he affects to laugh it off, 
but looks pale and ill satisfied. Young William next throws 
his nut into the fire, and says, " Shall I have my wish? " The 
nut blazes cheerily ; — the youth smiles, and looks meaningly 
at pretty Rachel. 

Old Polly Lewis is now in her full glory : — she walks up to 
her high-backed arm-chair by the fireside, takes her seat, and 
prepares to relate one of those tales which she knows is ex- 
pected from her, and without which All-hallow Eve could 
never be duly wound up. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 179 

EXERCISE LXXXVIII. 

THE LIBELLED BENEFACTOR. Horace Smith. 

They warned me, by all that affection could urge, 
To repel his advances, and fly from his sight ; 

They called him a fiend, a destroyer, a scourge, 
And whispered his name with a shudder of fright. 

They said that disease went as herald before, 
While sorrow and severance followed his track ; 

They besought me, if ever I came to his door, 
Not a moment to pause, but turn instantly back. 

" His breath," they exclaimed, " is a pestilence foul, 
His aspect more hateful than language can tell ; 

His touch is pollution, — No Gorgon or Ghoul, 

In appearance or deeds, is more loathsome and fell." 

Such stern prohibitions, description so dire, 

By which the most dauntless might well be dismayed, 

In me only wakened a deeper desire 

To gaze on the monster so darkly portrayed. 

I sought him, — I saw him ; — he stood by a marsh, 
Where henbane and hemlock with poppies entwined : 

He was pale, he was grave ; but no feature was harsh ; 
His eye was serene ; his expression was kind. 

" This stigmatized being," I cried, in surprise, 

" Wears a face most benignant ; but looks are not facts : 

Physiognomy often abuses our eyes ; — 

I'll follow his footsteps, and judge by his acts." 

There came from a cottage a cry of alarm : 
An infant was writhing in agonies sore ; — 

His hand rocked the cradle, — its touch was a charm, — 
The babe fell asleep, — all its anguish was o'er. 

He reached a proud mansion where, worn by the woe 
Of consumption, a beauty lay withered in bed ; — 

Her pulse he compressed with his fingers ; and lo ! 
The complaint of long years> in a moment had fled ! 



180 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

He passed where lie heard the disconsolate moan 
Of a widow, with manifold miseries crushed ; — 

Where a pauper was left in his sickness to groan : — 

Both were healed at his sight; and their sorrows were 
hushed. 

He sped where a king, sorely smitten with age, 
In vain sought relief from the pangs he endured : 

" I come," said the stranger, " your woes to assuage ; " — 
He spoke ; and the monarch was instantly cured. 

Astounded by deeds which appeared to bespeak 
In the fiend a benevolent friend of mankind, 

From himself I resolved a solution to seek 

Of the strange contradiction that puzzled my mind. 

" Chase, mystical being ! " I cried, " this suspense : 
How comes it thou'rt blackened by every tongue, 

When in truth thou'rt the champion, the hope, the defence, 
Of the king and the beggar, the old and the young 1 " 

" Thou hast witnessed," he answered, (his voice and his face 
Were all that is musical, bland, and benign,) 

" Not a tithe of the blessings I shed on the race, 
Who my form and my attributes daily malign. 

" All distinctions of fortune, of birth, of degree, 

Disappear where my levelling banner I wave : 
From his desolate dungeon the captive I free ; 
His fetters I strike from the suffering slave. 

" And when from this stormy probation on earth, 
The just and the righteous in peace I dismiss, 

I give them a new and more glorious birth 
In regions of pure and perennial bliss." 

" Let me bless thee," I cried, " for thy missions of love : 
Oh ! say to what name shall I fashion my breath ? " — 

" The Angel of Life, is my title above; 

But short-sighted mortals have christened me Death ! " 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 181 

EXERCISE LXXX1X. 

MIDSUMMER EVE. N.Hawthorne. 

Mr. Hawthorne gives us, in his " Twice-Told Tales," the following 
lively description of the revelry of Midsummer Eve, as celebrated 
in olden time. The scene is laid in a colony where life did not 
always wear the habitual gravity of Puritan manners. 

Bright were the days at Merry Mount, when the May- 
pole was the banner-staff of that gay colony ! Midsummer 
Eve had come, bringing deep verdure to the forest, and roses 
in her lap, of a more vivid hue than the tender buds of spring. 
But May, or her mirthful spirit, dwelt all the year round, at 
Merry Mount ; sporting with the summer months, and revel- 
ling with Autumn, and basking in the glow of Winter's fire- 
side. Through a world of toil and care, she flitted with a 
dreamlike smile, and came hither to find a home among the 
lightsome hearts of Merry Mount. 

Never had the May-pole been so gayly decked, as at sunset 
on Midsummer Eve. This venerated emblem was a pine- 
tree, which had preserved the slender grace of youth, while it 
equalled the loftiest height of the old wood monarchs. From 
its top streamed a silken banner, coloured like the rainbow. 
Down nearly to the ground, the pole was dressed with birchen 
boughs, and others of the liveliest green, and some with sil- 
very leaves, fastened by ribands that fluttered in fantastic knots 
of twenty different colours, but no sad ones. Garden flowers, 
and blossoms of the wilderness, laughed gladly forth amid the 
verdure, so fresh and dewy, that they must have grown by 
magic on that happy pine-tree. Where this green and flowery 
splendour terminated, the shaft of the May-pole was stained with 
the seven brilliant hues of the banner at its top. On the lowest 
green bough hung an abundant wreath of roses ; some that had 
been gathered in the sunniest spots of the forest, and others, 
of still richer blush, which the colonists had reared from 
English seed. O people of the golden age, the chief of your 
husbandry, was to raise flowers ! 

But what was the wild throng that stood, hand in hand, about 
the May-pole ? It could not be, that the fauns and nymphs, 
when driven from their classic groves and homes of ancient 
fable, had sought refuge, as all the persecuted did, in the fresh 
woods of the West. These were Gothic monsters, though 
16 



182 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

perhaps of Grecian ancestry On the shoulders of a comely 
youth, uprose the head and branching antlers of a stag ; a 
second, human in all other points, had the grim visage of a 
wolf; a third, still, with the trunk and limbs of a mortal man, 
showed the beard and horns of a venerable goat. There was 
the likeness of a bear erect, brute in all but his hind legs, which 
were adorned with pink silk stockings. And here again, almost 
as wondrous, stood a real bear of the dark forest, lending each 
of his fore-paws to the grasp of a human hand, and as ready 
for the dance, as any in that circle. His inferior nature rose 
half-way, to meet his companions as they stooped. 

Other faces wore the similitude of man or woman, but dis- 
torted or extravagant, with red noses pendulous before their 
mouths, which seemed of awful depth, and stretched from ear 
to ear, in an eternal fit of laughter. Here might be seen the 
" salvage man," well known in heraldry, — hairy as a baboon, 
and girdled with green leaves. By his side, a noble figure, 
but still a counterfeit, appeared an Indian hunter, with feath- 
ery crest and wampum belt. Many of this strange company 
wore fools'-caps, and had little bells appended to their gar- 
ments, tinkling with a silvery sound, responsive to the inaudi- 
ble mirth of their gleesome spirits. Some youths and maidens 
were of more sober garb, yet well maintained their places in 
the irregular throng, by the expression of wild revelry upon 
their features. Such were the colonists of Merry Mount, as 
they stood, in the broad smile of sunset, round their vener- 
ated May-pole. 



EXERCISE XC. 

EFFECTS OF MUSIC ON MAN. Mellen. 

He heard it 'mid the trees ! 

When forth in thought he hied, 

Under the eventide, 

When flowers were closing on the drowsy bees. 
Then, as in dreamy mood he turned 

His linked fancies wild, 
He heard, far up, as one afraid, 
The music by the shrill leaves made, — 

Then shouted, as a child, 
To that lone harping of the wind ! 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 183 

He heard it from the earth! 
When,*in the silent heat of day, 
Like pilgrim, pantingly he lay 

Beside the bubbling fount 
Of streams, that had their dewy birth, 

On some untrodden mount ; 
Leaping and lost among the hills, 
Ten thousand tuned and tinkling rills ! 

He heard it by the sea ! 
The old and the magnificent ! 

Where God's sublimest wonders be, 
All power with glory blent ! 

There, on the warrior waves 
That rode the battling storm, 
He heard the anthem of its roar 

Passing from shore to shore, 
And saw the tempest's cloudy form 
Above its gathering thunder bent. 

Again, when listening laid 

In some green grotto's shade, 
He heard the voices of the deep, 
Like those which stir us in our sleep, 

Come mellow through the hidden caves ! — 
And oh ! what noble harmonies, 
Were voices such as these, 

To a spirit fine and free, 
When Ocean his responses made, 

And Music walked the sea ! 



EXERCISE XCI. 

THE VIRTUOUS WOMAN. Sacred Scriptures. 

Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far 
above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust 
in her ; so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do 
him good, and not evil, all the days of her life. 

She seeketh wool and flax, and worketh willingly with her 
hands. She is like the merchant's ships, she bringeth her 
food from afar. She riseth also while it is yet night, and 



184 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her 
maidens. 

She considereth a field, and buyeth it; with the fruit of 
her hands she planteth a vineyard. She girdeth her loins 
with strength, and strengthened her arms. She perceiveth 
that her merchandise is good ; her candle goeth not out by 
night. She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands 
hold the distaff. 

She stretcheth out her hand to the poor ; yea, she reacheth 
forth her hands to the needy. 

She is not afraid of the snow for her household ; for all her 
household are clothed in scarlet. She maketh herself cover- 
ings of tapestry, her clothing is silk and purple. Her hus- 
band is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders 
of the land. She maketh fine linen, and selleth it, and deliv- 
ereth girdles unto the merchant. 

Strength and honour are her clothing ; and she shall 
rejoice in time to come. She openeth her mouth with wis- 
dom ; and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh 
well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread 
of idleness. 

Her children rise up, and call her blessed ; her husband 
also, and he praiseth her. — Many daughters have done vir- 
tuously ; but thou excellest them all. Favour is deceitful, 
and beauty is vain ; but a woman that feareth the Lord, she 
shall be praised. 



EXERCISE XCII. 

TO THE MOON. Bernard Barton. 

All hail to thee ! radiant ruler of night, — 
Shedding round thee thy soft and silvery light ; 
Now touching the hill-tops, now threading the vale, 
Oh ! who can behold thee, nor bid thee all hail ? 

The monarch of day more majestic may be, 
When he rises in pomp, on the verge of the sea ; 
When, the clouds that have curtained him slowly undrawn, 
His magnificence scatters the mists of the morn. 

His glory at noon may be greater than thine ; 
More splendid and glowing his evening decline, 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 185 

When the hues of the rainbow illumine the west, 
And millions of happy birds sing him to rest. 

But not in his rise, in his zenith, nor even 
When his parting effulgence irradiates half heaven, 
Though grand and majestic his glory be shown, 
Does he shine with a loveliness sweet as thy own. 

Through the path which thy Maker has traced thee on high, 
Thou walkest in silence across the vast sky ; 
Suns and worlds scattered round thee, though brilliant they be, 
Appear but like humble attendants on thee. 

All silent thyself! yet that stillness appears 

The signal for music, as sweet as the tears 

That the dews of the night o'er the landscape distil, — 

Which seen by thy bright beams, are lovelier still. 

For the softest of sounds shed their harmony round, 
More musical far, in a calm so profound ; — 
The murmur of brooks, and the nightingale's song, 
And the sigh of the breeze, sweeping gently along. 

Roll on, then, thou radiant ruler of night ! 
Exult in thy empire, rejoice in thy light ; 
Over mountain and valley, o'er ocean and isle, 
Pour down thy soft splendour, and lavish thy smile. 

For thy splendour, undazzling, and touchingly sweet, 
Is one that e'en sorrow serenely can greet ; 
And thy smile, glistening bright on each dew-drop, appears 
Bringing hope from on high, forming rainbows in tears ! 



EXERCISE XCIII. 

PETREA. 

Translated from Miss Bremer, by Mary Howitt. 

We are all of us somewhat related to chaos. Petrea Frank 
was very nearly so. Momentary bursts of light, and long periods 
of confusion, alternated in her. There was a great dissimi- 
16* 



186 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

larity between the sisters Louise and Petrea. While Louise 
required six drawers to contain her possessions, there needed 
scarcely half a one for the whole wardrobe of Petrea ; and 
this said wardrobe, too, was always in such an ill-conditioned 
case, that it was, according to Louise, quite lamentable ; and 
she not unfrequently lent a helping hand to its repair. Petrea 
tore her things, and gave away without bounds or discrimina- 
tion, and was well known, in the sisterly circle, for her bad 
management. Petrea had no turn for accumulation : on the 
contrary, she had truly, although Louise would not allow it, a 
certain turn for art. 

She was always occupied by creations of one kind or an- 
other, either musical, or architectural, or poetical. But all 
her creations contained something of that which is usually 
called folly. At twelve years old, she wrote her first romance : 
" Annette and Belis loved each other tenderly ; they experi- 
enced adversity in their love; were at last, however, united, 
and lived henceforth in a charming cottage, surrounded with 
hedges of roses, and had eight children in one year ; " which 
we may call a very honourable beginning. A year afterwards, 
she began a tragedy, which was to be called " Gustavus Adol- 
phus and Ebba Brahe," * and which opened in the following 
manner : — 

" Now from Germania's coast returned, 
I see again the much-loved strand; 
From war I come, without a wound, 
Once more into my native land. 
Say, Banner, say what woe has caused these tears : 
Am I not true to thee ? or is it idle hope alone that will be- 
fool my years ? " 

Whether no sheet of paper was broad enough to contain 
the lengthened lines, or any other cause interfered to prevent 
the completion of the piece, we know not ; but certain it is, 
that it was soon laid aside. Neither did a piece of a jocular 
nature, which was intended to emulate the fascinating muse 
of Madame Lenngren,f advance much farther: — the begin- 
ning was thus : — 

"In the castle of Elpaklastie, — 

Which lay, in sooth, somewhere in Sweden, — 

* Pronounced, Br&hay. 

t Anna Lenngren, a distinguished Swedish poetess, admired espe- 
cially for her Idyls. She died in 1817. 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 187 

There lived the lovely Melanie, 

Sole daughter of the Count Sterneden." 

At the present time, Petrea was engaged on a poem, the 
title of which, written in large letters, ran thus — 

"The Creation of the World ! " 
The Creation of the World began thus : — 

" Chaos. 

Once in the depths etern of darkness lying, 

This mighty world 
Waited expectantly the moments flying, 

When light should be unfurled. 
The world was nothing then, which now is given 

To crowds of busy men ; 
And all our beautiful, star-spangled heaven 

Was desolate darkness then ; 
Yet He was there, who before time existed, 

Who will endure forever " — 

The creation of the world ceased with this faint glimmer- 
ing of light, and was probably destined, under Petrea's hand, 
never to be brought forth from chaos. Petrea had an espe- 
cially great inclination for great undertakings, and the misfor- 
tune to fail in them. This want of success always wounded 
her deeply ; but in the next moment, the impulse of an irre- 
sistibly vigorous temperament, raised her above misfortune, in 
some new attempt. Her young head was filled with a mass 
of half-formed thoughts, fancies, and ideas ; her mind and her 
character were full of disquiet. At times, joyous and wild 
beyond bounds, she became, on the other hand, wretched and 
dispirited without reason. Poor Petrea ! she was wanting in 
every kind of self-regulation and ballast, even outwardly : she 
walked ill, — she stood ill, — she courtesied ill, — sat ill, and 
dressed ill ; and occasioned, in consequence, much pain to 
her mother, who felt so acutely whatever was unpleasing ; and 
this also was very painful to Petrea, who had a warm heart, 
and who worshipped her mother. 

Petrea's appearance imaged her soul ; — for this, too, was 
variable ; this, too, had its raptures ; and here, too, at times, 
a glimmering light would break through the chaos. If the 
complexion were muddled, and the nose red and swollen, she 
had a most ordinary appearance ; but in cooler moments, and 



188 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

when the rose-hue confined itself merely to the cheeks, she 
was extremely good-looking ; and sometimes too, and that ever 
in her pleasant moments, there would be a gleam in her eye, 
and an expression in her countenance, which had occasioned 
her brother Henrik to declare that Petrea was after all 
handsome. 



EXERCISE XCIV. 
JOURNEY OF THE CULPRIT FAY. J. R. Drake. 

Through dreary beds of tangled fern, 
Through groves of nightshade dark and dern, 
Over the grass and through the brake, 
Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake ; 

Now o'er the violet's azure flush 
He skips along in lightsome mood ; 

And now he thrids the bramble bush, 
Till its points are dyed in fairy blood. 
He has leaped the bog, he has pierced the brier, 
He has swum the brook, and waded the mire, 
Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew weak, 
And the red waxed fainter in his cheek. 
He had fallen to the ground outright, — 

For rugged and dim was his onward track, — 
But there came a spotted toad in sight, 

And he laughed as he jumped upon her back : 
He bridled her mouth with a silk-weed twist ; 

He lashed her sides with an osier thong ; 
And now, through evening's dewy mist, 

With leap and spring they bound along, 
Till the mountain's magic verge is passed, 
And the beach of sand is reached at last. 

Soft and pale is the moony beam, 
Moveless still the glassy stream ; 
The wave is clear, the beach is bright 

With snowy shells and sparkling stones; 
The shore-surge comes in ripples light, 

In murmurings faint and distant moans ; 
And ever, afar, in the silence deep, 
Is heard the splash of the sturgeon's leap, 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 189 

And the bend of his graceful bow is seen, — 
A glittering arch of silver sheen, 
Spanning the wave of burnished blue, 
And dripping with gems of the river dew. 
The elfin cast a glance around, 

As he lighted down from his courser toad ; 
Then round his breast his wings he wound, 

And close to the river's bank he strode ; 
He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer, — 

Above his .head his arms he threw, 
Then tossed a tiny curve in air, 

And headlong plunged in the waters blue. 

Up sprung the spirits of the waves, 

From sea-silk beds, in their coral caves ; 

With snail-plate armour snatched in haste, 

They speed their way through the liquid waste ; — 

Some are rapidly borne along 

On the mailed shrimp, or the prickly prong ; 

Some on the blood-red leeches glide ; 

Some on the stony starfish ride ; 

Some on the back of the lancing squab, 

Some on the sidelong soldier-crab, 

And some on the jellied quarl, that flings 

At once a thousand streamy stings ; — 

They cut the wave with the living oar, 

And hurry on to the moonlight shore, 

To guard their realms, and chase away 

The footsteps of the invading Fay. 



EXERCISE XCV. 

THE SAME SUBJECT, CONCLUDED. Ibid. 

Fearlessly he skims along : 
His hope is high, and his limbs are strong; 
He spreads his arms like the swallow's wing, 
And throws his feet with a frog-like fling ; 
His locks of gold on the waters shine : 

At his breast the tiny foam-beads rise ; 
His back gleams bright above the brine ; 

And the wake-line foam behind him lies. 



190 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

But the water-sprites are gathering near, 
To check his course along the tide : 

Their warriors come in swift career, 
And hem him round, on every side ; — 

On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold ; 

The quad's long arms are round him rolled ; 

The prickly prong has pierced his skin; 

And the squab has thrown his javelin ; 

The gritty star has rubbed him raw ; 

And the crab has struck with his giant claw : 

He howls with rage, and he shrieks with pain, — 

He strikes around ; but his blows are vain : — 

Hopeless is the unequal fight ; — 

Fairy ! nought is left but flight. 

He turned him round, and fled amain, 

With hurry and dash, to the beach again ; 

He twisted over from side to side, 

And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide. 

The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet, 

And with all his might he flings his feet ; 

But the water-sprites are round him still, 

To cross his path, and work him ill. 

They bade the wave before him rise ; 

They flung the sea-fire in his eyes ; 

And they stunned his ears with the scallop stroke, 

With the porpoise heave, and the drumfish croak. 

Oh ! but a weary wight was he, 

When he reached the foot of the dogwood-tree : 

Gashed and wounded, and stiff and sore, 

He laid him down on the sandy shore ; — 

He blessed the force of the charmed line ; 

And he banned the water-goblins' spite ; 
For he saw around, in the sweet moonshine, 
Their little wee faces above the brine, 

Giggling and laughing with all their might 
At the piteous hap of the Fairy wight. 

Soon he gathered the balsam dew, 

From the sorrel leaf and the henbane bud ; 

Over each wound the balm he drew; 

And with cobweb lint he stanched the blood. 

The mild west wind was soft and low, — 

It cooled the heat of his burning brow ; 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 191 

And he felt new life in his sinews shoot, 
As he drank the juice of the cal'mus root : 
And now he treads the fatal shore, 
As fresh and nimble as before. 



EXERCISE XCVI. 

TIVOLI. Anon. 

Who has not heard of Tivoli,* — the Tibur of the an- 
cients ; — so famed for the loveliness of its scenery, — ■ for its 
beautiful groves, and its crumbling ruins, — its dark, frown- 
ing caverns, and the wild cascades, which, dashing down its 
rocky steeps, rush, with frightful speed and deafening roar, 
into deep, black, yawning gulfs beneath? Its picturesque 
charms attract the attention of all travellers who visit Rome ; 
and the stranger's pilgrimage to the Eternal City would be 
incomplete indeed, without an excursion to Tivoli. 

This enchanting spot stands to the north-eastward of Rome, 
at a distance of about nineteen miles. It is a bold eminence, 
rising out of the tract of country called the Campagna,f and 
forming the termination of a projecting spur from the great 
chain of the Apennines, with which it is more immediately 
connected by the Sabine hills. The abruptness of its eleva- 
tion produces a succession of rocky heights, which break 
the waters of the Teverone J into those splendid cascades, 
that contribute so largely to the beauty of the surrounding 
landscape. 

This river, — the Anio of antiquity, — has its source 
among the Apennines, in a cluster of lakes. Early in its 
course, it suffers frequent interruptions, but then continues 
flowing placidly along between shady hills, until, at Tivoli, 
where the high ground terminates, it falls headlong down into 
the plain below. Above, stands the town, its site occupying 
both banks of the river ; beyond it, on the north and east, 
rise, afar off, the mountains of the Sabine country ; to the 
south appear the heights of the Frascati,§ bounding the plain 
into which the hill of Tivoli, on that side, slopes in steep de- 

* Pronounced, Tee'volee. t Cdmpd'nyd. 

t Tayvayro'nay. § Frdscd'tee. 



192 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

clivities ; while to the west, the view is open, and extends 
along the winding stream of the Teverone, as far as the great 
city itself, whose loftier buildings rear their high heads, con- 
spicuous in the distance. 

The first object that engages the attention of the traveller, 
on his arrival, is the ruin of a beautiful little circular temple, 
which crowns the summit of the rocky precipice, suspended, 
as it were, above the great cascade. This exquisite remain, 
which is by some assigned to the goddess Vesta, by others to 
the Sibyl, who reigned in the neighbouring groves, stands in 
the yard at the back of the " Sibilla Inn : n it consists of ten 
Corinthian columns, above which rises the entablature, origi- 
nally supported by eighteen. Its appearance is extremely 
picturesque, and harmonizes well with the scenery around. 

Not far from this ancient edifice, are the remains of a little 
square building, which is supposed, by those who regard its 
neighbour as that of Vesta, to be the real temple of the Sibyl. 
The back of the temple, with a portion of one flank, and 
some Ionic half-columns, much decayed, are all that now 
exist. By the side of this ruin, a winding pathway leads 
down the chasm into which the great cascade pours its rapid 
waters, and conducts to the Grotto of Neptune, — a dark 
cavern, from which another fall, half subterranean, rushes 
forth, and joins its foaming stream to that which rolls from 
above. The united mass dashes with frightful impetuosity 
into the deep and dark abyss below, and after tumbling a 
little way among the rocks, is lost in a second cavern, called 
the Grotto of the Siren. 

Crossing the stream, on the top of this cavern, which forms 
the natural bridge of the Ponte di Lupo, * the traveller de- 
scends on the opposite side, and, entering its mouth, looks 
down into the channel through which the river rushes to its 
bed below. When he has reached the lower part of the 
stream, the view above him is enchanting. " Looking up- 
wards," says a traveller, " you see the temple, the city, the 
rocks, the falls, combined in the most magical manner. It 
is a scene, however, which it is difficult to characterize. It 
might be called sublime, if the objects of beauty were not so 
numerous ; and if its sublimity and beauty were less impres- 
sive, you would pronounce it the most picturesque view that 
was ever beheld." 

* Pontay dee Loopo. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 193 



EXERCISE XCVII. 

AN AUTUMN DAY. Bryant 

But now a joy too deep for sound, 

A peace no other season knows, 
Hashes the heavens, and wraps the ground, — 

The blessing of supreme repose. 
Away ! I will not be, to-day, 

The only slave of toil and care ; 
Away ! from desk and dust, away ! 

I'll be as idle as the air. 
Beneath the open sky abroad, 

Among the plants and breathing things, 
The sinless, peaceful works of God, 

I'll share the calm the season brings. 
Come thou, in whose soft eyes 1 see 

The gentle meaning of the heart, — 
One day amid the woods with thee, 

From men and all their cares apart ; — 
And where, upon the meadow's breast, 

The shadow of the thicket lies, 
The blue wild flowers thou gatherest 

Shall glow yet deeper near thine eyes. 
Come, — and when, 'mid the calm profound, 

I turn those gentle eyes to seek, 
They, like the lovely landscape round, 

Of innocence and peace shall speak. 
Rest here, beneath the unmoving shade ; 

And on the silent valleys gaze, 
Winding and widening, till they fade 

In yon soft ring of summer haze. 
The village trees their summits rear 

Still as its spire ; and yonder flock, 
At rest in those calm fields, appear 

As chiselled from the lifeless rock. 
One tranquil mount the scene o'erlooks, 

Where the hushed winds their Sabbath keep, 
While a near hum from bees and brooks, 

Comes faintly like the breath of sleep. — 
Well might the gazer deem, that when, 

Worn with the struggle and the strife, 
17 



194 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

And heart-sick at the sons of men, 
The good forsake the scenes of life, ■ 

Like the deep quiet, that awhile 
Lingers the lovely landscape o'er, 

Shall be the peace whose holy smile 
Welcomes them to a happier shore ! 



EXERCISE XCVIII. 

WINTER SCENE. Thomson. 

The keener tempests rise ; and, fuming dun, 

From all the livid east, or piercing north, 

Thick clouds ascend, in whose capacious womb 

A vapoury deluge lies, to snow congealed. 

Heavy they roll their fleecy world along ; 

And the sky saddens with the gathered storm. 

Through the hushed air the whitening shower descends, 

At first, thin wavering ; till, at last, the flakes 

Fall broad, and w T ide, and fast ; dimming the day, 

With a continual flow. The cherished fields 

Put on their winter robe of purest white. 

'Tis brightness all ; save where the new snow melts 

Along the mazy current. Low the woods 

Bow their hoar head ; and, ere the languid sun, 

Faint, from the west, emits his evening ray, 

Earth's universal face, deep hid, and chill, 

Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide 

The works of man. — Drooping, the labourer-ox 

Stands covered o'er with snow, and then demands 

The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven, 

Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around 

The winnowing store, and claim the little boon 

Which Providence assigns them. One alone, 

The redbreast, sacred to the household gods, 

Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky, 

In joyless fields, and thorny thickets, leaves 

His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man 

His annual visit. Half-afraid, he first 

Against the window beats ; then, brisk, alights 

On the warm hearth ; then, hopping o'er the floor, 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 195 

Eyes all the smiling family askance, 
And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is ; 
Till, more familiar grown, the table-crumbs 
Attract his slender feet. — The foodless wilds 
Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The hare, 
Though timorous of heart, and hard beset 
By death, in various forms, dark snares and dogs, 
And more unpitying men, the garden seeks, 
Urged on by fearless want. The bleating kind 
Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glistening earth, 
With looks of dumb despair ; then, sad-dispersed, 
Dig for the withered herb through heaps of snow. 

Now, shepherds, to your helpless charge be kind, 
Baffle the raging year, and fill their pens 
With food at will ; lodge them below the storm, 
And watch them strict : for from the bellowing east, 
In this dire season, oft the whirlwind's wing 
Sweeps up the burden of whole wintry plains, 
At one wide waft, and o'er the hapless flocks, 
Hid in the hollow of two neighbouring hills, 
The billowy tempest whelms; till, upward urged, 
The valley to a shining mountain swells, 
Tipped with a wreath high-curling in the sky. 



EXERCISE XCIX. 

THE MUSIC OF WINTER. N. P. Willis. 

I love to listen to the falling of the snow. It is an unob- 
trusive and sweet music. You may temper your heart to the 
serenest mood, by its low murmur. It is that kind of music 
that only intrudes upon your ear when your thoughts come 
languidly. You need not hear it, if your mind is not idle. 
It realizes my dream of another world, where music is intui- 
tive like a thought, and comes only when it is remembered. 

And the frost, too, has a melodious " ministry." You will 
hear its crystals shoot, in the dead of a clear night, as if the 
moonbeams were splintering like arrows on the ground ; and 
you listen to it the more earnestly that it is the going on of 



196 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

one of the most cunning and beautiful of nature's deep 
mysteries. 

I know nothing so wonderful as the shooting of a crystal. 
God has hidden its principle, as yet, from the inquisitive eye 
of the philosopher ; and we must be content to gaze on its 
exquisite beauty, and listen, in mute wonder, to the noise of its 
invisible workmanship. It is too fine a knowledge for us. 
We shall comprehend it when we know how the " morning 
stars sang together.'' 

You would hardly look for music in the dreariness of the 
early winter. But before the keener frosts set in, and while 
the warm winds are yet stealing back occasionally, like regrets 
of the departed summer, there will come a soft rain or a heavy 
mist ; and when the north wind returns, there will be drops 
suspended, like ear-ring jewels, between the filaments of the 
cedar tassels, and in the feathery edges of the dark green 
hemlock ; and, if the clearing up is not followed by a heavy 
wind, they will all be frozen in their places, like well-set 
gems. 

The next morning, the warm sun comes out ; and, by the 
middle of the calm, dazzling forenoon, they are all loosened 
from the close touch which sustained them, and will drop at 
the lightest motion. If you go along upon the south side of 
the wood, at that hour, you will hear music. The dry foliage of 
the summer's shedding, is scattered over the ground ; and the 
round, hard drops ring out clearly and distinctly, as they are 
shaken down with the stirring of the breeze. It is something 
like the running of deep and rapid water, only more fitful and 
merrier ; but to one who goes out in nature, with his heart 
open, it is a pleasant music, and, in contrast with the stern 
character of the season, delightful. 

Winter has many other sounds that give pleasure to the 
seeker for hidden sweetness ; but they are too rare and acci- 
dental to be described distinctly. The brooks have a sullen 
and muffled murmur under their frozen surface ; the ice, in 
the distant river, heaves up with the swell of the current, and 
falls again to the bank with a prolonged echo, and the wood- 
man's axe rings cheerfully out from the bosom of the unrobed 
forest. 

These are, at best, however, but melancholy sounds ; and, 
like all that meets the eye in that cheerless season, they but 
drive in the heart upon itself. I believe it is so ordered in 
God's wisdom. We forget ourselves in the enticement of the 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 197 

sweet summer. Its music and its loveliness win away the 
senses that link up the affections ; and we need a hand to turn 
us back tenderly, and hide from us the outward idols in whose 
worship we are forgetting the higher and more spiritual altars. 



EXERCISE C. 

TASTE IN DRESS. Mrs. Farrar. 

There is too much individual character shown in dress, 
and it is too generally taken as an indication, on which to 
form our opinions of people, for it to be treated as a matter 
of no consequence. To be sure, it shrinks into insignifi- 
cance, compared with the inward adornment of the mind ; 
but a proper regard to it will not interfere with any weightier 
matter. Whenever dress occupies too much time, engrosses 
too much thought, costs too much money, it becomes, like 
any other excess, a serious evil. 

Allowing, then, that, to the most rational and intellectual 
young lady, dress must naturally be a matter of some conse- 
quence, it is very important that her mind should be so 
enlightened upon the subject, and her taste so cultivated, 
that she may attain the desired end of being always well 
dressed, with the smallest possible sacrifice of time, mind, 
and money. 

Now, there are some rules, which, being founded on first 
principles, are of universal application ; and one of these is 
that nothing can be truly beautiful which is not appropriate : 
nature and the fine arts teach us this. Propriety, or fitness, 
lies at the foundation of all good taste in dressing. 

Let a true sense of propriety, of the fitness of things, reg- 
ulate all your habits of living and dressing ; and it will pro- 
duce such a beautiful harmony and consistency of character, 
as will throw a charm around you, that all will feel, though 
few may comprehend. Always consider well whether the 
articles of dress, which you wish to purchase, are suited to 
your age, your condition, your means ; to the climate, to the 
particular use to which you mean to put them ; and then let 
the principles of good taste keep you from the extremes of 
the fashion, and regulate the form, so as to combine utility 
17* 



198 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

and beauty ; whilst the known rules of harmony in colours, 
save you from shocking the eye of the artist, by incongruous 
mixtures. 



EXERCISE CI. 

THE MISS-NOMERS. Mrs. Barron Wilson. 

Miss Brown is exceedingly fair; 

Miss White is as red as a berry; 
Miss Black has a gray head of hair ; 

Miss Graves is a flirt ever merry ; 
Miss Lightbody weighs sixteen stone ; 

Miss Rich can scarce muster a guinea; 
Miss Hare wears a wig, and has none ; 

And Miss Solomon is a sad ninny ! 

Miss Mildmay's a terrible scold ; 

Miss Dove's ever coarse and contrary ; 
Miss Young is now grown very old ; 

And Miss Heaviside's light as a fairy. 
Miss Short is at least five feet ten ; 

Miss Noble's of humble extraction ; 
Miss Love has a hatred towards men, 

While Miss Still is forever in action. 

Miss Green is a regular blue; 

Miss Scarlet looks pale as a lily ; 
Miss Violet ne'er shrinks from our view ; 

And Miss Wiseman thinks all the men silly ! 
Miss Goodchild's a naughty young elf, 

Miss Lyon's from terror a fool ; 
Miss Mee's not at all like myself; 

Miss Carpenter no one can rule ! 

Miss Sadler ne'er mounted a horse, 

While Miss Groom from the stables will run ; 
Miss Kilmore can't look on a corse ; 

And Miss Aimwell ne'er levelled a gun. 
Miss Greathead has no brains at all ; 

Miss Heartwell is ever complaining ; 
Miss Dance has ne'er been at a ball ; 

Over hearts Miss Fairweather likes reigning. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 199 

Miss Wright, — she is constantly wrong; 

Miss Tickell, alas ! is not funny ; 
Miss Singer ne'er warbled a song ; 

And alas ! poor Miss Cash has no money. 
Miss Bateman would give all she's worth, 

To purchase a man to her liking ; 
Miss Merry is shocked at all mirth ; 

Miss Boxer the men don't find striking ! 

Miss Bliss does with sorrow o'erflow ; 

Miss Hope in despair seeks the tomb ; 
Miss Joy still anticipates woe, 

And Miss Charity 's never " at home." 
Miss Hamlet resides in a city ; 

The nerves of Miss Standfast are shaken ; 
Miss Prettiman's beau is not pretty ; 

Miss Faithful her love has forsaken ! 

Miss Porter despises all froth ; 

Miss Scales they'll make wait, I am thinking ; 
Miss Meekly is apt to be wroth ; 

Miss Lofty to meanness is sinking. 
Miss Seymore's as blind as a bat; 

Miss Last at a party is first ; 
Miss Brindle dislikes a striped cat ; 

And Miss Waters has always a thirst ! 

Miss Knight is now changed into Day, — 

Miss Day wants to marry a Knight ; 
Miss Prudence has just run away, 

And Miss Steady assisted her flight. 
But success to the fair, — one and all ! 

No mis-apprehensions be making : — 
Though wrong the dear sex to mis-call, 

There's no harm, I should hope, in miss-taking. 



EXERCISE CII. 

CONVERSATION. Caroline Fry. 

It is objected by some, that young people talk too much, 
and by others that they talk too little ; and each remark is 



200 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

just ; for they do both. When young people are alone, freed 
from the constraints of society, and the presence of those who 
are older or wiser than themselves, their ceaseless volubility, 
the idleness, uselessness, and folly of their conversation, is all 
too much : not a pause to reflect upon their words ; not a mo- 
ment to weigh the sentiments they hear ; not a care for the 
time they waste, or for the habits of trifling and exaggeration 
which they acquire. But in society they often talk too little. 
An unreasonable fear of exposing their sentiments, loses to 
them the best means of ascertaining if they are right. A 
want of that simplicity of mind, which, conscious of no de- 
sign, does not look to be charged with a wrong one, makes 
them fear to be thought ostentatious ; while the real difficulty 
of expressing themselves, from want of being accustomed to 
it, — a difficulty their indolence would rather keep than make 
an effort to subdue, — prevents their joining in conversation 
on subjects on which they are fully able to speak, and would 
gain information by doing so. Modesty may lead them to 
suppose they cannot contribute to the pleasure of the conver- 
sation ; and pride prevents their speaking, lest they should, 
perhaps, expose their ignorance. 

It was a cheerless night : — the heavens were hung with the 
thick, dark clouds that betoken coming snows : here and there, 
a pallid star peeped forth, — perceived but a moment ere it 
was gone, — and returned no more. I watched them long, 
and they became fewer and fewer ; and, one by one, I saw the 
clouds close over them, as time closes over the joys that have 
passed away. And now the vapours united into one unshadowed 
and unbroken mass of blackness. The winds just whispered 
through the leafless trees a low and melancholy sound ; and I 
began to feel the cold droppings of the fleecy shower of snow. 
More silent than the thief upon his midnight errand, unheard 
and unsuspected from within, it stole down upon the hard- 
frozen earth, to prepare for the returning sun far other land- 
scape than that he shone upon before he set. 

I was some distance yet from home, and liking to observe 
Nature in all her varied aspects, I sought shelter in the porch 
of a handsome dwelling-house that fronted the path 1 was 
treading. There, through an opening in the crimson curtains 
of an adjoining window, I looked upon a scene strikingly con- 
trasted with that which was without. A blazing fire, recently 
fed with the dry log, crackled and sparkled on the hearth. 
The reeking urn, with the tall candles by its side, was hissing 
on the table. The downy rug and many-coloured carpet, with 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 201 

the deep crimson of the curtain, gave a glow of warmth to the 
picture, strikingly opposed to the growing whiteness of the 
scene without. 

A number of young persons were in the room ; the plain- 
ness of their dress, their easy familiarity, and small numbers, 
did not indicate a party ; and yet there were more than might 
belong to a single family. This was not hard to understand. 
And how powerfully came to my mind, at the moment, the 
boundless munificence of that Being, who has provided en- 
joyments for every season ; comforts for nature's most sad and 
cheerless hours ! What was to them the chilling shower of 
snow that fell without, or the frost that bound the palsied earth 
in impenetrable hardness ? In the enjoyment of present pleas- 
ures, other, but not less, they sighed not at the recollection 
of the tints of autumn or the summer's sun. And then came 
into my gladdened mind all the delights of social intercourse ; 
of sentiments sweetly responding to each other ; of feelings 
tenderly participated ; of argument without dispute ; reproof 
without unkindness. 

The youthful party, — for such it was, — had recently met, 
as it seemed to me, to pass a social evening ; all on familiar 
terms and intimately acquainted : therefore there was neither 
reserve, nor form, to check or damp their pleasures. The tea 
was making ; and as they sipped the fragrant draught, the talk 
went cheerfully round. It began, as usual, with the weather. 
I do not exactly object to this ; because something must be 
said first ; and, as the beginning address is a great difficulty to 
the reserved and modest, it is very well to have an established 
form of commencement, fitted for all circumstances. But I 
did think half an hour something too long for this prelude. 
And I did think, besides, that when one called it miserable 
weather, and another said it was a wretched day, and a third 
declared it put her quite out of temper, and a fourth wished 
she could sleep till it was finer ; the speakers either did not 
well regard the meaning of their words, or had formed an 
extraordinary estimate of misery and wretchedness, as well as 
of the value of time, and the preservatives of good-humour. 
And I began to be something impatient, when one remarked, 
at some length, on the wonderful shortening of the days, 
which, as it usually occurs in November, I thought scarcely 
might need a remark, much less an expression of surprise or 
complaint. 

The subject next in succession, was that of dress. Here, 



202 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

too, the gentle critic must concede something to what makes a 
necessary part of a woman's business . and so I was very patient 
for a while. But, indeed, this subject so far outlived its pred- 
ecessor, the remarks were so useless, the eagerness so dispro- 
portioned to the occasion, the importance attached to it so 
much too great, and the expenditure of thought on it so very 
obvious, that I began to be well-nigh weary of my listening ; 
when it diverged a little from dress in the abstract, to dress in 
the application, and all the dresses of all the ladies in the 
parish, red, blue, and black, Sunday and working-day, were 
numbered, described, and discussed. 

But I forbore to listen. The night's increasing dullness 
warned me thence ; and as I betook myself to my solitary home, 
I tried in vain to recall, of all I had heard, one single expres- 
sion of feeling, one thought that bespoke reflection, one 
breathing of piety, cultivation, or good sense. 



EXERCISE Cin. 

ON THE DEPARTURE OF A BROTHER. 

Margaret Davidson. 

Brother ! I need no pencilled form 

To bring back glowing thoughts of thee ; 

Love's pencil, bathed in hues of light, 
Shall trace the page of memory. 

There they shall live, each look or smile, 
Each gentler word, or look, or tone ; 

Fancy shall view love's work the while, 
And add rich colouring of her own. 

Oh ! turn not from my strain away, 
Nor scorn it, simple though it be ! 

It is a sister's sorrowing lay, 
A token of her love for thee. 

Oh ! that a prophet's eye were mine, 
To read the shrouded future o'er ! 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 203 

Oh ! that the glimmering lamp of time 
Could cast its feeble rays before ! 

Oh ! if a sister's partial hand 

Could weave the web of fate for thee, 

Pleasure should wave her mystic wand, 
And all thy life be harmony ! 

Peace, foolish heart ! — a wiser Power 
Thy hand shall guide, thy footsteps lead ; 

Each bitter grief, each rapturous hour, 
By His unerring will decreed. 

Farewell, my brother ! and believe, 
Through every scene of weal or woe, 

A sister's heart with thine shall grieve, 
With thine in rapturous joy shall glow. 

Each morn and eve a mother's prayer, 
With mine shall seek the courts above ; 

A mother's blessing rest on thee, 
Embalmed in all a mother's love. 



EXERCISE CIV. 

TO THE RAINBOW. Campbell. 

Triumphal arch ! that fill'st the sky, 
When storms prepare to part, 

I ask not proud Philosophy 
To teach me what thou art. — 

Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, 

A midway station given 
For happy spirits to alight, 

Betwixt the earth and heaven ! 

Can all that Optics teach, unfold 
Thy form to please me so, 

As when I dreamed of gems and gold 
Hid in thy radiant bow ? 



204 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

When Science from Creation's face 
Enchantment's veil withdraws, 

What lovely visions yield their place 
To cold material laws ! 

And yet, fair bow ! no fabling dreams, 
But words of the Most High, 

Have told why first thy robe of beams 
Was woven in the sky. 

When o'er the green undeluged earth, 
Heaven's covenant, thou didst shine, 

How came the world's gray fathers forth 
To watch thy sacred sign I 

And when its yellow lustre smiled 
O'er mountains yet untrod, 

Each mother held aloft her child 
To bless the bow of God. 

Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, 
The first made anthem rang, 

On earth delivered fromlhe deep, 
And the first poet sang. 

Nor ever shall the Muse's eye 
Unraptured greet thy beam : 

Theme of primeval prophecy, 
Be still the poet's theme ! , 

The earth to thee her incense yields, 
The lark thy welcome sings, 

When glittering in the freshened fields 
The snowy mushroom springs. 

How glorious is thy girdle cast 
O'er mountain, tower, and town ; 

Or mirrored in the ocean vast, 
A thousand fathoms down ! 

As fresh in yon horizon dark, 
As young thy beauties seem, 

As when the eagle from the ark 
First sported in thy beam. 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 205 

For, faithful to its sacred page, 

Heaven still rebuilds thy span, 
Nor lets the type grow pale with age, 

That first spoke peace to man. 



EXERCISE CV. 
THE CIRCASSIANS. Anon. 

The people of the province of Nottakhaitzi,* are considered 
to be the handsomest of all the Circassian tribes ; and Mr. 
Spencer states that, during his whole route, he saw not a sin- 
gle face undistinguished by beauty. " The women/' he says, 
" are characterized by a graceful, easy deportment, and a natu- 
ral elegance of manners; the men, by a dignified and war- 
like bearing ; and it is not too much to say, that, perhaps, no 
half-civilized people in the world display so pleasing an ex- 
terior. " 

" In short, the beauty of feature and symmetry of form, for 
which this people are celebrated, are no chimeras ; — and some 
of the finest statues of the ancients do not display in their pro- 
portions greater perfection ; — but it is the singular degree of 
animation in the eye, so generally observable, that most arrests 
attention : when this is exhibited, in a high degree, in the 
men, it gives an expression of great ferocity to the counte- 
nance ; and when we see a warrior, mounted on his fiery 
steed, armed and equipped for battle, brandishing his cimeter 
in the air, bending, turning and stopping at full gallop, with 
unequalled agility and grace of action, he realizes every idea 
of Homer's Hector." 

" In the first appearance of a Circassian, there is something 
extremely martial and commanding : his majestic look, eleva- 
ted brow, dark mustachio, and flowing beard, his erect position 
and free, unconstrained action, are all calculated to interest 
the stranger in his favour. It must be confessed that he owes 
something to his fine military costume, the jewelled poniard 
that hangs at his belt, and the round black cap of shining 
astrachan, — the most becoming part of the dress ; and which 
would improve the very worst features." 

* Pronounced, Nottakhi'tsee. 

18 



206 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

" Unlike the apathetic Turk, the Circassians are lively and 
animated, and but little disposed to sedentary pursuits; the 
occupations of war being only diversified by agricultural and 
pastoral employments : even these, of late years, have been 
left principally to their slaves, on account of the incessant 
hostility of the Russians. Fortunately, however, they are, in 
some measure, prepared for the evils of war; their houses 
being principally constructed of hurdles and mud, with thatched 
roofs : hence they make no scruple of setting fire to the whole 
of their villages and hamlets, on the approach of an enemy too 
formidable for them to meet front to front. A few days will 
suffice to rebuild their habitations ; consequently, when the 
Russians invade the country, they find it a desert, destitute 
alike of food and shelter ; which, of course, obliges them to 
retrace their steps." 

Their bravery does not exceed their kindness of heart ; and 
though travellers have had abundant reason to complain of 
their brigandage, this, says Mr. Spencer, is not the effect of 
cruelty, but long-established usage. 

" Among the Circassians, like the ancient Spartans, the 
thief who exercises his profession with dexterity, excites uni- 
versal admiration ; and you cannot insult a Circassian more, 
than to tell him he did not know how to steal an ox. How- 
ever, the mal-adroit who may be detected is not only con- 
demned to the restitution of the stolen articles, but to a fine 
of nine times their value. In fact, these people are very 
clever thieves ; and nothing could protect a stranger from their 
sleight-of-hand dexterity, were it not for the religious respect 
they pay to the rites of hospitality ; for, however much a 
Circassian may be addicted to this vice, — here considered a 
virtue, — from the moment a traveller has entered his house, 
and broken bread with him, he would defend the person and 
property of the stranger, even with life itself." 

One more evidence in favour of Circassia : — 

" The respect exhibited towards the aged, by the inhabitants 
of the Caucasus, is not less admirable than their hospitality, 
and deserves to be imitated by Europeans. The counsel of 
the most venerable man in the village, is sought for with rev- 
erence ; his decisions are bowed to, in all cases of petty con- 
tentions ; when he speaks, the most loquacious man becomes 
instantly silent ; if angry, his denunciations are patiently 
listened to ; should he strike, the blow is never returned ; 
wherever he appears, youth makes way for him ; the warmest 
corner near the fire is assigned him ; and it is considered an 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 207 

honour to light his tchibouque ; * when he rides out, his horse 
is caught and saddled; and on his return, at least a dozen lads 
are seen running to help him down: happy is the man he 
blesses ; and cursed indeed is the man he curses, for he is 
shunned by all ! 

" Even poor degraded woman, so generally a stranger to 
kindnesses and honours, in the East, is here treated with the 
highest consideration. The minstrels, like the ancient trou- 
badours, sing songs in praise of her charms and virtues. The 
brave knights of olden time never displayed more respectful 
gallantry towards the fair sex, than these simple mountaineers ; 
and this is the people now menaced with slavery or extermi- 
nation by the Russians. 

" In summing up the virtues of the Circassians, we must 
not forget their charity : the poor man never cries at the 
door of the rich in vain ; the orphan is provided for by the 
nearest relation as his own children ; if a man's house is 
burned, his neighbours assist in building it ; if he loses his 
cattle from sickness, or his corn from blight, each gives him 
assistance, which the obliged party always makes it a point of 
conscience to repay liberally, when fortune is kind." 



EXERCISE CVI. 
HAGAR IN THE WILDERNESS. JV. P. Willis. 

The morning broke. — Light stole upon the clouds 
With a strange beauty. — Earth received again 
Its garment of a thousand dyes ; and leaves, 
And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers, 
And every thing that bendeth to the dew, 
And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up 
Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn. 

All things are dark to sorrow ; and the light 
And loveliness, and fragrant air, were sad 
To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth 
Was pouring odours from its spicy pores ; 
And the young birds were singing as if life 
Were a new thing to them : but oh ! it came 
Upon her heart like discord ; and she felt 

* Tsheebook, (pipe.) 



208 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

How cruelly it tries a broken heart, 
To see a mirth in any thing it loves. 

The morning passed ; and Asia's sun rode up 
In the clear heaven, and every beam was heat. 
The cattle of the hills were in the shade, 
And the bright plumage of the Orient lay 
On beating bosoms, in her spicy trees. 
It was an hour of rest ! — But Hagar found 
No shelter in the wilderness ; and on 
She kept her weary way, until the boy 
Hung down his head, and opened his parched lips 
For water ; but she could not give it him. 
She laid him down beneath the sultry sky ; — 
For it was better than the close, hot breath 
Of the thick pines, — and tried to comfort him ; 
But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyes 
Were dim and bloodshot ; and he could not know 
Why God denied him water in the wild. — 
She sat a little longer; and he grew 
Ghastly and faint, as if he would have died. 
It was too much for her. She lifted him, 
And bore him farther on, and laid his head 
Beneath the shadow of a desert shrub ; 
And, shrouding up her face, she went away, 
And sat to watch, where he could see her not, 
Till he should die ; and watching him, she mourned : 

" God stay thee, in thine agony, my boy ! 
I cannot see thee die ; I cannot brook 

Upon thy brow to look, 
And see death settle on my cradle joy. 
How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye ! 

And could I see thee die ? 

" I did not dream of this, when thou wast straying, 
Like an unbound gazelle, among the flowers ; 

Or wiling the soft hours, 
By the rich gush of water-sources playing, 
Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep, 

So beautiful and deep. 

" Oh no ! and when I watched by thee, the while, 
And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream, 
And thought of the dark stream 



YOUNG ladies' READER. 209 

In my own land of Egypt, the far Nile, 
How prayed I that my fathers' land might be 
A heritage for thee ! 

" And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee, 
And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press ; 

And oh ! my last caress 
Must feel thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee. — 
How can I leave my boy, so pillowed there 
Upon his clustering hair ! ■" 
***** 
She stood beside the well her God had given 
To gush in that deep wilderness, and bathed 
The forehead of her child until he laughed 
In his reviving happiness, and lisped 
His infant thought of gladness at the sight 
Of the cool plashing of his mother's hand. 



EXERCISE CVII. 

TO THE WINDS. Bernard Barton. 

Awful your power ! when by your might, 
You heave the wild waves, crested white, 

Like mountains, in your wrath ; 
Ploughing between them valleys deep, 
Which to the seaman roused from sleep, 

Yawn like Death's opening path ! 

Graceful your play ! when, round the bower 
Where Beauty culls Spring's loveliest flower, 

To wreath her dark locks there, 
Your gentlest whispers lightly breathe 
The leaves between, flit round that wreath, 

And stir her silken hair. 

Still, thoughts like these are but of earth ; 
And you can give far loftier birth : — 

Ye come : — we know not whence ! 
Ye go ! — can mortals trace your flight 1 
All imperceptible to sight, 

Though audible to sense. 



210 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

The sun, — his rise, and set we know ; 
The sea, — we mark its ebb, and flow ; 

The moon, — her wax and wane ; 
The stars, — man knows their courses well, 
The comet's vagrant paths can tell ; — 

But you his search disdain. 

To me, when Fancy stirs 

My thoughts, ye seem Heaven's messengers, 

Who leave no path untrod ; 
And when, as now, at midnight's hour, 
I hear your voice in all its power, 

It seems the Voice of God ! 



EXERCISE CVIIL 

JOY. Margaret Davidson. 

Oh ! my bosom is throbbing with joy, 
With a rapture too full to express : 

From within and without I am blest; 

And the world, like myself, I would bless. 

All nature looks fair to my eye, 

From beneath and around and above : 

Hope smiles in the clear azure sky ; 

And the broad earth is glowing with love. 

I stand on the threshold of life, 

On the shore of its wide-rolling sea ; — 

I have heard of its storms and its strife, 
But all things are tranquil to me. 

There's a veil o'er the future, — 'tis bright 

As the wing of a spirit of air ; 
And each form of enchantment and light, 

Is trembling in Iris hues there. 

I turn to the world of affection, 

And warm, glowing treasures are mine ; — 
To the past, — and my fond recollection 

Gathers roses from memory's shrine. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 211 

But oh ! there's a fountain of joy 

More rich than a kingdom beside : 
It is holy ; — death cannot destroy 

The flow of its heavenly tide. 

'Tis the love that is gushing within ; — 

It would bathe the whole world in its light, 

Which the cold stream of time shall not quench, 
The dark frown of woe shall not blight. 

Though age, with an icy-cold finger, 

May stamp his pale seal on my brow, 
Still, still in my bosom shall linger 

The glow that is warming it now. 

Youth will vanish, and Pleasure, gay charmer, 

May depart on the wings of to-day ; 
But that spot in my heart shall grow warmer, 

As year after year rolls away. 



EXERCISE CIX. 

A STORY OF THE PYRENEES. R. M. Mines. 

The marriage blessing on their brows, 

Across the Channel seas 
And lands of gay Garonne, they reach 

The pleasant Pyrenees: — 
He into boyhood born again, 

A child of joy and life, — 
And she a happy English girl, 

A happier English wife. 

They loiter not where Argeles, 

The chestnut-crested plain, 
Unfolds its robe of green and gold 

In pasture, grape, and grain : 
But on and up where Nature's heart 

Beats strong amid the hills, 
They pause, contented with the wealth 

That either bosom fills. 



212 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

There is a lake, a small round lake, 

High on the mountain's breast, 
The child of rains and melted snows, 

The torrent's summer rest, — 
A mirror where the veteran rocks 

May glass their peaks and scars, 
A nether sky, where breezes break 

The sunlight into stars. 

Oh ! gayly shone that little lake, 

And Nature, sternly fair, 
Put on a sparkling countenance 

To greet that merry pair : 
How light from stone to stone they leaped, 

How trippingly they ran ; 
To scale the rock, and gain the marge, 

Was all a moment's span ! 

" See, dearest, this primeval boat, 

So quaint, and rough, I deem 
Just such a one did Charon ply 

Across the Stygian stream : 
Step in, — I will your Charon be, 

And you a Spirit bold ; — 
I was a famous rower once 

In college days of old. 

" The clumsy oar ; the laggard boat ! — 

How slow we move along! 
The work is harder than I thought ; — 

A song, my love, a song ! " 
Then standing up, she carolled out 

So blithe and sweet a strain, 
That the long silent cliffs were glad 

To peal it back again. 

He, tranced in joy, the oar laid down, 

And rose in careless pride, 
And swayed in cadence to the song 

The boat from side to side : 
Then clasping hand in loving hand, 

They danced a childish round, 
And felt as safe in that mid-lake 

As on the firmest ground. 






YOUNG LADIES' READER. 213 

One poise too much ! — He headlong fell — 

She, stretching out, to save, 
A feeble arm, was borne adown 

Within that glittering grave ! 
One moment, and the gush went forth 

Of music-mingled laughter, — 
The struggling splash and deathly shriek 

Were there the instant after. 

Her weaker head above the flood, 

That quick ingulfed the strong, 
Like some enchanted water-flower, 

Waved piteously along : 
Long seemed the low and lonely wail 

Athwart the tide to fade ; — 
Alas ! that there were some to hear, 

But never one to aid. 

But weep, ye very rocks, for those 

Who, on their native shore, 
Await the letters of dear news, 

That shall arrive no more ! 
One letter from a stranger hand, — 

Few words are all the need ; 
And then the funeral of the heart, 

The course of useless speed ! 

The presence of the cold dead wood, 

The single mark and sign 
Of all so loved and beautiful, 

The handiwork divine ! 
The weary search for his fine form 

That in the depth would linger, 
And late success : — oh ! leave the ring 

Upon that faithful finger ! 

And if in life there lie the seed 

Of real enduring being, — 
If love and truth be not decreed 

To perish unforeseeing, — 
This Youth the seal of death has stamped, 

No time can wither ever, — 
This Hope, that sorrow might have damped, 

Is flowering fresh forever. 



•214 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

EXERCISE CX. 

THE OASIS, * OR THE GARDEN AMID THE DESERT. 

H. Reed. 

Imagine yourself in the interior of India, on one of those 
boundless plains which characterize the country, called the 
Deccan. Here the eye stretches in vain for a limit, unless 
some rising hillock breaks the prospect. Neither fence, nor 
hedge, nor forest, interrupts the monotony of the scene. Not 
a tree relieves the eye, except it be near a well, or reservoir 
of water.. 

It was in the early part of June. Eight months had 
already elapsed, since the fall of a single shower of rain. 
Not a shrub, not a blade of grass, not a relic of former vege- 
tation, was to be seen, except where the soil had been artifi- 
cially irrigated. Here and there, a shade-tree, or a fruit- 
tree, whose roots penetrate far beneath the surface, can sur- 
vive the drought of the hot season. Dreariness and desolation 
cover the land, on every side. 

At an early hour, we left our resting-place, a kind of cara- 
vansary. The atmosphere was slightly refreshing, though 
not cool. But no sooner had the sun appeared above the 
horizon, than we began to wither beneath the intensity of his 
rays. It was scarcely nine, when the hot wind, a kind of 
sirocco, commenced, which, added to the scorching of the 
heated earth, rendered travelling almost intolerable. We 
sought a place for shelter. 

Casting our eyes to the left, we explored an immense waste 
plain, which apparently extended to the shore of an inter- 
minable ocean. Knowing well that we were in the interior 
of a great country, and far from sea, lake, or river, we rec- 
ognized, for the first time, in this appearance, the mirage^ 
an extraordinary optical illusion, formed by the refraction of 
a vertical sun, from the heated earth. So perfect is the 
deception, that deer, and other animals, have died from 
exhaustion, while pursuing the retiring phantom. 

But, from the opposite side, we saw a reality nearer at 
hand, and scarcely less wonderful, — a verdant spot, fresh 
and blooming, — fragrance in the midst of desolation, — a 
fertile island in the bosom of an ocean of sand, — spring amid 
the deadness of autumn. Wearied by travel, and almost suf- 

* Pronounced, d'asis. t Meerdzh. 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 215 

focated with dust and heat, we drew near, as to the " shadow 
of a great rock in a weary land." 

How cheering, amidst such desolation, how refreshing to 
the pilgrim beneath the rays of a tropical sun, to behold a 
green field, a cool, fair garden, whose trees bend with fruit, 
whose flowers diffuse perfume, whose atmosphere breathes 
the sublimity of a temperate clime ! Hasting to this en- 
chanted spot, we pitched our tent beneath the thick foliage 
and wide-spreading branches of a tamarind-tree. 

How changed the scene ! It was a garden of several acres 
in extent. — Every plant and flower, every shrub and tree, 
was clad in the richest verdure. Here was a compartment 
filled with healthful vegetables. Near it was ripening grain, 
corn in " the blade or in the ear ; " then a tuft of trees, loaded 
with blossoms, or enriched with perfected fruit. The tama- 
rind, the mango, and the orange, the lemon and pomegranate, 
the citron and banana, were here in their glory. Here, also, 
were the rose, the lily, the jessamine, and countless other 
flowers peculiar to the tropics, and the luxuriant vineyard, 
maturing its rich clusters. And among the embowering ver- 
dure, the warbling songsters found a pleasant retreat from 
the tyrant rage of an Indian sun. 

What a contrast with the surrounding country ! What a 
fulfilment of the sublime promise of the Hebrew prophet ; 
" The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad, and the 
desert rejoice and blossom as the rose. It shall blossom 
abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing : the glory of 
Lebanon shall be given unto it, the excellency of Carmel and 
Sharon.' 3 

But what caused this sudden springing forth of beauty ? 
A fountain was there, deep and broad, sending forth copious 
streams, to fructify the surrounding region. Fertility, in the 
East, depends much on an artificial supply of water. If this 
can be freely commanded, vegetation is rapid and abundant. 
The intense heat, and plentiful moisture, make even barren- 
ness prolific. Seed-time and harvest meet. A succession 
of crops, thrice, or even four times in a year, is realized. 
Spring, summer, and autumn, blend in one continued har- 
vest hymn of praise. 

The garden or field is usually divided into compartments 
of fifteen or twenty square feet. In the centre is a fountain 
or well, and near it a small reservoir. Thence, the main 
watercourse extends, in some convenient direction ; and 
smaller channels are led from it, in branches, to every sep- 
arate compartment. The water is raised by oxen, attached 



216 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

to a long rope, which passes over a windlass, and is made fast 
to an enormous leathern bucket. When a great quantity is 
thus thrown into the reservoir, it spontaneously flows into the 
principal channel, whence the gardener conducts it at his 
pleasure. — " The rivers of waters are in his hand; he turneth 
them whithersoever he will." 

When the stream begins to flow from the reservoir, he 
stations himself at the channel which conveys it to the first 
compartment, and, removing, with his foot, a slight mound of 
earth, directs thither as much water as is requisite for its 
irrigation. Closing that avenue, he proceeds to the second, 
thence to the third, and thus onward, till all have been visited. 
This is repeated every morning and evening ; and it matters 
little how large the field is, if the fountain contain a sufficient 
supply. But if the space to be irrigated is out of proportion, 
or the fountain diminished by drought, vegetation withers, or 
becomes extinct. The farther you recede from the centre, 
the more blighted does every thing appear : — the water is too 
low, the impetus too feeble, to reach the remoter bounds. 
This constant and laborious process of cultivation, explains 
the inspired description of a tropical region ; where " thou 
sowedst thy seed, and wateredst it icith thy foot, as a garden 
of herbs." 

We know that Lebanon was renowned for its sublime 
scenery ; that its lofty cedars, its plantations of olive, its vine- 
yards, producing the choicest wines, its crystal streams, its 
fertile vales, and odoriferous shrubberies, combined to form 
what, in the poetic style of prophecy, is called " its glory." 
Mount Carmel is proverbial, in the sacred volume, for its 
unfading verdure and surpassing fertility. Sharon, an exten- 
sive plain, to the south of Carmel, celebrated for its vines, 
flowers, and green pastures, and adorned in early spring with 
the white and red rose, the narcissus, the white and the orange 
lily, the carnation, and a countless variety of other flowers, 
with its groves of olive and sycamore, is but another name for 
" excellency " and beauty. 

But what did the prophet intend to illustrate by these forci- 
ble and significant emblems ? Doubtless a vision burst upon 
his mind, no less magnificent than the boundless dispersion of 
the waters of Life, the reclaiming of a desert world, the cloth- 
ing it with the golden fruits of immortality. Behold, in the 
heart of the wilderness, a fountain breaks forth ! Sterility 
blossoms; desolation lifts up its head with " joy and singing." 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 217 



EXERCISE CXI. 



THE CATARACT OF LODORE. Southey. 

[An exercise in change of voice. Every word in this piece should 
be read with a tone in which " the sound is an echo to the sense"] 

" How does the water come down at Lodore 1 " 
" Here it comes sparkling, 
And there it lies darkling; 
Here smoking and frothing, 
Its tumult and wrath in, 
It hastens along, conflicting and strong, — 
Now striking and raging, 
As if a war waging, 
Its caverns and rocks among. 

" Rising and leaping, 
Sinking and creeping, 
Swelling and flinging, 
Showering and springing, 
Eddying and whisking, 
Spouting and frisking, 
Turning and twisting 

Around and around; 
Collecting, disjecting, 

With endless rebound : 
Smiting and fighting, — 
A sight to delight in, — 
Confounding, astounding, 
Dinning and deafening the ear with its sound. 

" Receding and speeding, 
And shocking and rocking, 
And darting and parting, 
And threading and spreading, 
And whizzing and hissing, 
And dripping and skipping, 
And whitening and brightening, 
And quivering and shivering, 
And hitting and splitting, 
19 



218 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

And shining and twining, 
And rattling and battling, 
And shaking and quaking, 
And pouring and roaring, 
And waving and raving, 
And tossing and crossing, 
And flowing and glowing^ 
And running and stunning, 
And hurrying and skurrying, 
And glittering and frittering, 
And gathering and feathering, 
And dinning and spinning, 
And foaming and roaming, 
And dropping and hopping, 
And working and jerking, 
And guggling and struggling, 
And heaving and cleaving, 
And thundering and floundering, 
And falling and brawling and sprawling, 
And driving and riving and striving, 
And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling, 
And sounding and bounding and rounding, 
And bubbling and troubling and doubling, 
Dividing and gliding and sliding, 
And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling, 
And clattering and battering and shattering, 
And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming, 
And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, 
And curling and whirling and purling and twirling, 
Retreating and meeting and beating and sheeting, 
Delaying and straying and playing and spraying, 
Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing, 
Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling, 
And thumping and flumping and bumping and jumping, 
And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing; 
And so never ending but always descending, 
Sounds and motion forever and ever are blending, 
All at once, and all o'er, with a mighty uproar; — 
And this way the water comes down at Lodore." 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 219 

, EXERCISE CXII. 

PASSING AWAY. Maria J. Jewsbury. 

I asked the stars, in the pomp of night, 
Gilding its blackness with crowns of light, 
Bright with beauty, and girt with power, 
Whether eternity were not their dower ; — 
And dirge-like music stole from their spheres, 
Bearing this message to mortal ears : — 

" We have no light that hath not been given ; 
We have no strength, but shall soon be riven ; 
We have no power wherein man may trust ; 
Like him are we, things of time and dust ; 
And the legend we blazon with beam and ray, 
And the song of our silence, is — ' Passing away/ 

II We shall fade in our beauty, the fair and bright, 
Like lamps that have served for a festal night; 
We shall fall from our spheres, the old and strong, 
Like rose-leaves swept by the breeze along ; 

The worshipped as gods in the olden day, 

We shall be like a vain dream — Passing away." 

From the stars of heaven, and the flowers of earth, 
From the pageant of power, and the voice of mirth, 
From the mists of morn on the mountain's brow, 
From childhood's song, and affection's vow, — 
From all, save that o'er which soul bears sway, 
Breathes but one record — " Passing away." 

" Passing away," sing the breeze and rill, 

As they sweep on their course by vale and hill ; — 

Through the varying scenes of each earthly clime, 

'Tis the lesson of nature, the voice of time ; 

And man at last, like his fathers gray, 

Writes in his own dust — " Passing away " 



220 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

EXERCISE CXIII. 

THE DEPARTED. Park Benjamin. 

The departed ! — the departed ! — 

They visit us in dreams ; 
And they glide above our memories 

Like shadows over streams ; — 
But where the cheerful lights of home 

In constant lustre burn, 
The departed — the departed 

Can never more return ! 

The good, the brave, the beautiful ! — 

How dreamless is their sleep, 
Where rolls the dirge-like music 

Of the ever-tossing deep, — 
Or where the hurrying night-winds 

Pale winter's robes have spread 
Above the narrow palaces, 

In the cities of the dead ! 

I look around, and feel the awe 

Of one who walks alone, — 
Among the wrecks of former days, 

In mournful ruin strown. 
I start to hear the stirring sounds 

Among the cypress-trees ; 
For the voice of the departed 

Is borne upon the breeze. 

That solemn voice ! — it mingles with 

Each free and careless strain : 
I scarce can think earth's minstrelsy 

Will cheer my heart again. 
The melody of summer waves, 

The thrilling notes of birds, 
Can never be so dear to me, 

As their remembered words. 

I sometimes dream their pleasant smiles 
Still on me sweetly fall ! 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 221 

Their tones of love I faintly hear 

My name in sadness call. 
I know that they are happy, 

With their angel plumage on ; 
But my heart is very desolate, 

To think that they are gone. 

The departed ! — the departed ! — 

They visit us in dreams ; 
And they glide above our memories, 

Like shadows over streams ; — 
But where the cheerful lights of home 

In constant lustre burn, 
The departed — the departed 

Can never more return ! 



EXERCISE CXIV. 

FASHION. Mrs. Ellis. 

One of the greatest drawbacks to the good influence of so- 
ciety, is the almost unrivalled power of fashion upon the 
female mind. Wherever civilized society exists, fashion exer- 
cises her all-pervading influence. All stoop to it, more or less, 
and appear to esteem it a merit to do so ; w T hile a really fash- 
ionable woman, though both reprobated and ridiculed, has an 
influence in society which is little less than absolute. Yet, if 
we would choose out the most worthless, the most contempti- 
ble, and the least efficient of moral agents, it would be the 
slave of fashion. 

Say the best we can of fashion, it is only an imaginary or 
conventional rule, by which a certain degree of order and 
uniformity is maintained ; while the successive and frequent 
variations in this rule, are considered to be the means of 
keeping in constant exercise our arts and manufactures. I 
am not political economist enough to know whether the same 
happy results might not be brought about by purer motives, 
and nobler means. But it has always appeared to me one of 
the greatest of existing absurdities, that a whole community of 
people, differing in complexion, form, and feature, as widely 
19* 



222 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

as the same species can differ, should not only desire to wear 
precisely the same kind of dress, but should labour, strive, and 
struggle, deceive, envy, and cheat, and spend their own sub- 
stance, and often more than they can lawfully call their own 
— to do what? To obtain a dress, which to them is most 
unbecoming, or an article of furniture wholly unsuited to 
themselves and their establishment. 

My own idea, and I believe it is founded upon a long- 
cherished, and, perhaps, too ardent admiration of personal 
beauty, is, that fashion ought to favour all which is most be- 
coming. It is true, we should at first be greatly at a loss to 
know what was becoming, because we should have the power 
and the prejudice of fashion to contend with ; but there can 
be no doubt that individual as well as public taste, would be im- 
proved by such exercise, and that our manufactures would, in 
the end, be equally benefited, though, for some time, it might 
be difficult to calculate upon the probable demand. Nor can 
I think that female vanity would be more encouraged than it 
now is, by thus consulting personal and relative fitness ; be- 
cause the young woman who now goes into company fashion- 
ably disfigured, believes herself to be quite as beautiful as if 
she was really so. Neither can I see that we are not bound 
to study to make the best of our appearance, as well as how 
to make the best of our manners, our furniture, and our food. 

Fashion, however, never takes this into account. Accord- 
ing to her arbitrary law, the woman of sallow complexion must 
wear the same colour as the Hebe ; the contracted or mis- 
shapen forehead must be laid as bare as that which displays 
the fairest page of beauty ; the form with square and awkward 
shoulders, must wear the same costume as that which boasts 
the contour of the Graces ; and, — oh ! most pitiful of all, — 
old age must be " pranked up " in the light drapery, the 
flowers, and gauds of youth ! In addition to this, each one 
must possess, as an indispensable requisite, a waist consider- 
ably below the dimensions which are consistent either with 
symmetry or health. 

It will be an auspicious era in the experience of the daugh- 
ters of England, when they shall be convinced, that the Grecians 
had a higher standard of taste in female beauty, than that of 
the shopkeepers and dressmakers of London. They will then 
be willing to believe, that to be within the exact rule of pro- 
portion, is as important a deviation from perfect beauty, as to be 
beyond it ; and that nothing which destroys the grace of easy 
and natural movement, which deprives any bodily function of 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 223 

its necessary exercise, which robs the youthful cheek of its 
bloom, or, in short, which ungratefully throws back from our 
possession the invaluable blessing of health, can be consistent 
with the good taste or right feeling of an amiable, intelligent, 
or rational woman. 



EXERCISE CXV. 

DEATH OF A PRINCESS, AT A FETE GIVEN BY HER 

MOTHER. Anon. 

" Come hither, my daughter ! come hither ! — I'll deck 

With roses thy hair, and with jewels thy neck ; 

And forth in thy beauty, all blooming and bright, 

I'll send thee where pleasure invites thee this night ; — 

The revel awaits thee, — go, Queen of the dance ! 

In the might of thy charms, and win hearts with a glance : — 

Let music enchant thee; — let conquest be thine, 

To join in thy triumphs, my darling, be mine." — 

She went in her beauty, — she went in her pride ; 

And brave hearts adored her, — and jealous ones sighed : — 

The rose in her tresses, her bright cheek defies ; 

The diamonds she wears are dark to her eyes; — 

All matchless in beauty, all tameless in heart, 

The pride of her nature she veils not with art, — 

But haughty, though graceful, she moves through the dance; 

And the spirit of scorn looks forth in her glance : — 

Oh ! bear not so lofty thy seraph-like head ; — 

For the word has gone forth, and the arrow is sped ! — 

A change, thou proud beauty, is now on thine eye, 

From thy cheek and thy lips do the red roses fly ; — 

For the Angel of Death hath passed through the hall, 

To thee he hath whispered, — thee only of all, — 

With his life-freezing breath, and his voice like a sigh, — 

" E'en here, 'mid thy triumphs, — e'en now, thou must die !" — 

Their music is still ; — their voices are hushed ; — 

For pale terror and awe each spirit have crushed ; 

And whispering breezes are heard in the hall ; 

For horror and silence have fallen on all. 



224 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Away, in her lifelessness homeward they bear 

The maid, — while the roses are fresh in her hair, — 

Unconsciously home, to her own palace gates, 

Where, sleepless, a mother her coming awaits. — 

Turn, — turn from the scene ! — loud shrieks, and despair, 

And heart-breaking agony, all meet her there ! 



EXERCISE CXVI. 

PALMYRA, AS IT IS. Linden. 

Emerging from the valley, we came, at once, in sight of 
Palmyra ; her countless columns of white marble, ranging 
over the plain, in distinct symmetrical colonnades, with the 
boundless desert stretching far, far away beyond them, towards 
the Euphrates, — the most magnificent field of ruins I ever 
witnessed. You remember how I used to pore over the folio 
engravings of Palmyra. The word has been music to my ear, 
ever since. The report, however, of some later travellers, 
made me dread being disappointed ; so that it was with fear, 
as w r ell as curiosity, that I drew near the goal my wishes had 
so long pointed to. Great and joyous was my disappointment: 
I shall never forget that first sight of the ruins ; I know noth- 
ing to liken it to, — it must be seen. I felt no fatigue at Pal- 
myra, and oh ! the luxury of remembrance ! 

Descending to the plain, we stopped to drink at a well near 
the outer wall of the Temple of the Sun, — and then pitched 
under an olive-tree in a deserted garden. There are many 
palm-trees still at Tadmor, — probably, however, of recent 
importation ; for the few survivors of the ancient stock, that 
flourished there at the end of the seventeenth century, had, 
all save one, disappeared, sixty years afterwards, at the time 
of Wood's visit. 

The Temple of the Sun, which, singularly enough, faces 
the west, stands in the centre of an immense court, nearly 
seven hundred feet square, which is now entirely filled by the 
noisy houses of the Arab Palmyrenes. The court wall, exter- 
nally, presents a lofty dead surface, relieved by pilasters and 
false doors, with pediments in the intermediate spaces; within, 
a couple of niches for statues, surmounted by very handsome 
pediments, adorn, — or rather did adorn, — the angles of the 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 225 

enclosure, which there rose like semi-towers ; while similar 
niches, with neat but plainer pediments, ran all along the 
connecting walls. A handsome colonnade ran all around the 
court ; many of the columns are still standing, especially six 
at the south-west angle, very beautiful at a distance, but which 
lose on a nearer inspection. 

The temple itself, sadly, alas ! dilapidated, was surrounded 
by a peristyle of fluted Corinthian columns, with bronze capi- 
tals, all of which have disappeared, most pitiably exposing 
the naked surface of the stone to which they were attached. 
Eight columns, in this sad condition, are still standing on the 
east of the temple ; those on the north have lost their capitals 
entirely ; one only on the west supports its entablature ; — 
even the bronze clinches that secured the stones of the temple 
have been carried off. 

Two fine Ionic semi-pillars, flanked by Corinthian pilasters, 
adorn the south end of the temple : the chief ornaments of 
the other walls, are the pediments surmounting the windows, 
which are very elegant. 

The great gate is the most beautiful 1 ever saw, next to the 
matchless one at Baalbec: the devices are very beautiful ; but 
the design is superior to the execution ; they are not cut deep 
enough; and the stone, moreover, has suffered much from ex- 
posure. Passing four cubical masses of masonry, marking the 
crossing of streets in these towns, we came to a third temple, 
now lying a heap of ruins; but remains of beautifully sculp- 
tured friezes, and fragments of large statues in alto relievo* as 
ill-executed as the friezes are beautiful, and fragments of a 
long and deeply cut inscription in Greek and Palmyrene, show 
what a noble pile it once was. Lastly, behind the portico 
which closes the colonnade to the west, the remains of the 
temple it belonged to, — friezes of vine leaves, and beautiful 
network designs, and sarcophagi from the adjacent tomb, — are 
heaped together in utter confusion. Besides these distincter 
ruins, innumerable fallen columns and mouldering fragments 
of sculpture, lie in every direction, — traces of edifices, to 
which it is impossible even for fancy to assign any plan. 

It is, indeed, a most striking scene ; an awful stillness, a 
lifelessness, pervades the ruins, which I never felt anywhere 
else, except, perhaps, at Paestum — I do not even recollect 
hearing a bird sing there ; no huts encumber them ; no Arabs 
intrude on you : they stand as lonely and silent as when the 

* Pronounced, Alto raylyayro. 



226 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

last of the Palmyrenes departed, and left the city of Zenobia 
to silence and decay; — the fall of pillar after pillar, has been 
the only note of time there, and that uncounted, for centuries. 
One cannot occupy himself with petty architectural details, 
at Palmyra: — within the temple court, I could criticise, — 
without it, admire only; and, at sunrise, at sunset, in the 
morning glow, or in the evening calm, wandering among those 
columns so graceful in themselves, so beautiful in their sis- 
terly harmony, I thought I had never seen such loveliness, 
— such awful loveliness ! — lovely, and yet awful ; at times, 
you almost feel, as if Palmyra were a woman, and you stood 
by her corpse, stilled in death, but with a sweet smile linger- 
ing on her lip. 



EXERCISE CXVII. 

PALMYRA, AS IT WAS. W, Ware. 

A little after noon of the fourth day of our journey from 
Berytus, having refreshed ourselves and our exhausted animals, 
at a spring which here poured out its warm but still grateful 
waters to the traveller, my ears received the agreeable news, as 
we started on our way, that, toward the East, there could now 
be discerned the dark line which indicated our approach to 
the verdant tract that encompasses the great city. Our own 
excited spirits were quickly imparted to our beasts ; and a more 
rapid movement soon revealed into distinctness the high land 
and waving groves of palm-trees which mark the site of 
Palmyra. 

It was several miles before we reached the city, that we 
suddenly found ourselves, — landing, as it were, from a sea 
upon an island or continent, — in a rich and thickly-peopled 
country. The roads indicated an approach to a great capital, 
in the increasing numbers of those who thronged them, meet- 
ing and passing us, overtaking us, or crossing our path. Fre- 
quent villas of the rich and luxurious Palmyrenes, to which 
they retreat from the greater heats of the city, now threw a 
lovely charm over the scene. Nothing can exceed the splen- 
dour of these sumptuous palaces. Italy itself has nothing 
which surpasses them. The new and brilliant costumes, of 
the persons whom we met, together with the rich housings of 
the animals they rode, served greatly to add to all this beauty. 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 227 

I was still entranced, as it were, by the objects around me, 
and buried in reflection, when I was aroused by the shout of 
those who led the caravan, and who had attained the summit 
of a little rising ground, saying, " Palmyra ! Palmyra ! ;5 I 
urged forward my steed, and in a moment the most wonderful 
prospect I ever beheld — no, I cannot except even Rome — 
burst upon my sight. Flanked by hills of considerable eleva- 
tion on the East, the city filled the whole plain below as far as 
the eye could reach, both toward the North and toward the 
South. This immense plain was all one vast and boundless 
city. It seemed to me to be larger than Rome. Yet I knew 
very well that it could not be — that it was not. And it was 
some time before I understood the true character of the scene 
before me, so as to separate the city from the country, and the 
country from the city, which here wonderfully interpenetrate 
each other, and so confound and deceive the observer. For 
the city proper is so studded with groups of lofty palm-trees, 
shooting up among its temples and palaces, and on the other 
hand, the plain in its immediate vicinity is so thickly adorned 
with magnificent structures of the purest marble, that it is not 
easy, nay it is impossible, at the distance at which I contem- 
plated the whole, to distinguish the line which divided the 
one from the other. It was all city and all country, all coun- 
try and all city. Those which lay before me I was ready to 
believe were the Elysian Fields. I imagined that I saw under 
my feet the dwellings of purified men and of gods. Certainly 
they were too glorious for the mere earth-born. There was a 
central point, however, which chiefly fixed my attention, where 
the vast Temple of the Sun, stretched upward its thousand 
columns of polished marble to the heavens, in its matchless 
beauty casting into the shade every other work of art of which 
the world can boast. I have stood before the Parthenon, and 
have almost worshipped that divine achievement of the immor- 
tal Phidias. But it is a toy by the side of this bright crown 
of the Eastern capital. I have been at Milan, at Ephesus, at 
Alexandria, at Antioch; but in neither of those renowned 
cities have I beheld any thing that I can allow to approach in 
united extent, grandeur, and most .consummate beauty, this 
almost more than work of man. On each side of this, the 
central point, there rose upward slender pyramids, — pointed 
obelisks, — domes of the most graceful proportions, columns, 
arches, and lofty towers, for number and for form, beyond my 
power to describe. These buildings, as well as the walls of 
the city, being all either of white marble, or of some stone as 



228 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

white, and being, everywhere in their whole extent, inter- 
spersed, as I have already said, with multitudes of overshadow- 
ing palm-trees, perfectly filled and satisfied my sense of beauty, 
and made me feel for the moment as if in such a scene I 
should love to dwell, and there end my days. Nor was I alone 
in these transports of delight. All my fellow-travellers seemed 
equally affected : and from the native Palmyrenes, of whom 
there were many among us, the most impassioned and boast- 
ful acclamations broke forth. 



EXERCISE CXVIII. 

THE GREEN HILLS OF MY FATHER-LAND. 
Mrs. L. M. Thurston. 

The green hills of my father-land 

In dreams still greet my view : 
I see once more the wave-girt strand, 

The ocean-depth of blue, 
The sky, — the glorious sky outspread 

Above their calm repose ; 
The river, o'er its rocky bed 

Still singing as it flows ; 
The stillness of the Sabbath hours, 

When men go up to pray ; 
The sunlight resting on the flowers, 
The birds that sing among the bowers, 

Through all the summer day. 

Land of my birth ! — mine early love ! 

Once more thy airs I breathe ! 
I see thy proud hills tower above, — 

Thy green vales sleep beneath : 
Thy groves, thy rocks, thy murmuring rills, 

All rise before mine eyes ; 
The dawn of morning on thy hills, 

Thy gorgeous sunset skies, 
Thy forests, from whose deep recess 

A thousand streams have birth, 
Gladdening the lonely wilderness, 
And filling the green silentness 

With melody and mirth. 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 229 

I wonder if my home would seem 

As lonely as of yore ! 
I wonder if the mountain stream 

Goes singing by the door ! 
And if the flowers still bloom as fair, 

And if the woodbines climb, 
As when I used to train them there, 

In the dear olden time ! 
I wonder if the birds still sing 

Upon the garden tree, 
As sweetly as in that sweet spring 
Whose golden memories gently bring 

So many dreams to me ! 

I know that there hath been a change, 

A change o'er hall and hearth, — 
Faces and footsteps new and strange, 

About my place of birth ! 
The heavens above are still as bright 

As in the days gone by ; 
But vanished is the beacon light 

That cheered my morning sky ! 
And hill, and vale, and wooded glen, 

And rock, and murmuring stream, 
That wore such glorious beauty then, 
Would seem, should I return again, 

The record of a dream ! 

I mourn not for my childhood's hours, 

Since in the far-off West, 
'Neath sunnier skies, in greener bowers, 

My heart hath found its rest. 
I mourn not for the hills and streams 

That chained my steps so long, 
Yet still I see them in my dreams, 

And hail them in my song ; 
And often by the hearth-fire's blaze, 

When winter eve shall come, 
We'll sit and talk of other days, 
And sing the well-remembered lays 

Of my green mountain home. 



20 



230 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

EXERCISE CXIX. 
THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS. Mrs. Hemans. 

The breaking waves dashed high 
On a stern and rock-bound coast; 

And the woods against a stormy sky 
Their giant branches tossed ; 

And the heavy night hung dark 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New England shore. 

Not as the conqueror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, came ; 
Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 

And the trumpet that sings of fame ; 

Not as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear : — 
They shook the depths of the desert's gloom, 

With their hymns of lofty cheer ! 

Amidst the storm they sang ; 

And the stars heard, and the sea ; 
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 

To the anthem of the free ! 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam 
And the rocking pines of the forest roared : — 

This was their welcome home ! 

There were men with hoary hair, 

Amidst that Pilgrim band : — 
Why had they come to wither there, 

Away from their childhood's land ? 

There was woman's fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
There was manhood's brow serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 231 

What sought they thus afar ? 

Bright jewels of the mine ? 
The wealth of seas ? the spoils of war ? — 

They sought a Faith's pure shrine ! 

Ay ! call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod : 
They have left unstained what there they found, — 

Freedom to worship God ! 



EXERCISE CXX. 



BEAUTY. J. G. Whittier. 



What is beauty, after all ? Ask the lover, who kneels in 
homage to one who has no attraction for others. The cold 
looker-on wonders that he can call that unclassical combina- 
tion of features, and that awkward form, beautiful. Yet it is 
so. He sees, like Desdemona, her " visage in her mind," or 
her affections. A light from within shines through the ex- 
ternal comeliness, irradiates and glorifies it. That which to 
others seems common-place and unworthy of note, is to him, 
in the words of Spenser, 

" A sweet, attractive kind of grace, 
A full assurance given by looks, 
Continual comfort in a face, 

The lineaments of Gospel books." 

" Handsome is, that handsome does, — hold up your heads, 
girls ! " was the language of Mrs. Primrose, when addressing 
her daughters. The worthy matron was right. Would that 
all my female readers who are sorrowing foolishly because 
they are not, in all respects, like Dubufe's Eve, or that statue 
of the Medicean Venus, " which enchants the world," could 
be persuaded to listen to her. What is good looking, as Hor- 
ace Smith remarks, but looking good? Be good, be womanly, 
be gentle, generous in your sympathies, heedful of the well- 
being of all around you ; and, my word for it, you will not 
lack kind words of admiration. Loving and pleasant associ- 
ations will gather about you. Never mind the ugly picture 
which your glass may throw back to you. That mirror has 



232 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

no heart. But another visage is yours, on the retina of hu- 
man sympathy. There the beauty of holiness, of purity, of 
that inward grace " which passeth show/' rests over it, soft- 
ening and mellowing its features ; just as the full, calm moon- 
light melts those of a rough landscape into harmonious love- 
liness. " Hold up your heads, girls ! " I repeat, after Mrs. 
Primrose. — Why should you not? Every mother's daughter 
of you can be beautiful. You can envelop yourselves in an 
atmosphere of moral and intellectual beauty, through which 
your otherwise plain faces will look like those of angels. 

Beautiful, to Ledyard, stiffening in the cold of a Northern 
winter, seemed the diminutive, smoke-stained women of Lap- 
land, who wrapped him in their furs, and ministered to his 
necessities with kindness and gentle words of compassion. 
Lovely, to the home-sick heart of Park, seemed the dark 
maids of Lego, as they sang their low and simple song of 
welcome beside his bed ; and sought to comfort the white 
stranger, who had " no mother to bring him milk, and no 
wife to grind him corn." 

Oh ! talk as we may, of beauty as a thing to be chiselled 
from marble, or wrought out on canvass, — speculate as we 
may upon its colours and outlines, what is it but an intellec- 
tual abstraction, after all ? The heart feels a beauty of an- 
other kind ; — looking through the outward environment, it 
discovers a deeper and more real loveliness. 

Quite the ugliest face I ever saw, was that of a woman 
whom the world called beautiful. Through its " silver veil, " 
the evil and ungentle passions looked out, hideous and hate- 
ful. On the other hand, there are faces which the multitude, 
at first glance, pronounce homely, — unattractive and such 
as " nature fashions by the gross," — which I always recognize 
with a warm heart-thrill : not for the world would I have one 
feature changed ; they please me as they are ; beautiful through 
their associations; nor are they any the less welcome, that with 
my admiration of them " the stranger intermeddleth not." 



EXERCISE CXXL 

EVENING THOUGHTS. Anon. 

It is the gentle evening hour : 

The dew-drop glistens on each flower ; 



YOUiNG LADIES 5 READER. 233 



And in a deep and soft repose, 
Are sunk the lily and the rose. 
The birds have ceased their carolling ; 
No longer on the glancing wing, 
From tree to tree they dart, or fly, 
With sudden motion to the sky. 
The leaves upon the forest trees, 
Are all unruffled by the breeze ; 
The breeze itself has sunk to rest ; 
And all is calm, and still, and blest. 
The moon, with pensive face and pale, 
Has thrown o'er all her silvery veil, 
Save where the trembling shadows lie, 
Like clouds upon the summer sky ; 
But brightest does its radiance break 
Upon the fair Monadnoc Lake ; — 
A lovely lake, unknown to fame, 
And yet most worthy of a name, — 
The waters of the Lake Grassmere 
Are not more silvery and clear ; 
The fresh green hills that round it lie, 
Are not more grateful to the eye, 
Nor the soft light the sunset flings, 
More graceful in its shadowings ; 
The gentle stars, all pale and fair, 
Are not more sweetly mirrored there. 

No human voice, or step, or sound, 
Disturbs the silence, deep, profound ; 
I sit within my window seat, — 
Mine eyes alone these glories meet ; 
I sit and strive to banish fear, 
And brush away the trembling tear ; — 
It seems so selfish to be sad, 
When all around is bright and glad. 

All low and sweet there comes a voice ; — 
It bids my soul in peace rejoice : 
From all around, below, above, 
Breathes forth the whisper, God is Love. 

O heavenly Father, strengthen me, 
To put my trust alone in Thee ! 
Sustain, O God, my drooping heart, 
And make me feel how good thou art. 
Oh ! give me life ! give peace and rest, 
The higher life, — the good, the blest ! 



234 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Say to my spirit, Peace! be still, 
And trust thy heavenly Father's will. 
Thou who hast given so rich a dower, 
Of beauty to the evening hour, 
And stamped, on all, the deep impress, 
Of harmony and happiness, 
Wilt ne'er forget the human heart ; 
But wilt thy strength and grace impart 
To those who humbly seek to be, 
In peace with Nature and with Thee. 



EXERCISE CXXII. 

ANCIENT GARDENS. Anon. 

Man cannot figure to his imagination a more delightful 
scene, than that of a capacious flower garden, suitably situ- 
ated ; well stocked with a tasteful selection of plants, ranged 
under skilful and well-ordered culture. It is a combination 
of life and innocence, — innocence, with all its lovely charms 
and graces, faithfully and accurately delineated. A spot, 
abounding with all the rich lineaments of purity, in blooming 
vitality ; more proper, more eligible, more appropriate for beings 
made in the image of the beneficent Creator, in their pri- 
meval integrity, could not be devised by the most fertile concep- 
tion of fancy. This was their paradise, — a term synonymous 
with all that is lovely, pure, chaste, and^ agreeable. Here the 
first parents of man inhaled the untainted air, sweetened with 
the invigorating influences of the ambrosial dews of heaven. 

Judging from the dignified descriptions of Virgil, the prac- 
tical direction and superintendence of the cultivation and 
regulation of a garden, were, in the estimation of the Ro- 
mans, highly honourable, and the employment suitable for all 
who had leisure and opportunity to avail themselves of it. 

Solomon did not consider it beneath his dignity. He 
made himself great works, — gardens and orchards, and 
planted therein, trees of every kind ; well-flavoured fruits 
were their produce ; and they abounded with flowers, rich in 
variety, beauty, and fragrance. The royal philosopher was 
fond of the science of horticulture. His ample enclosures 
were tastefully formed ; and with an equal portion of skill 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 235 

he contrived the interior arrangements. Vegetable philosophy 
was his favourite study. He wrote on the subject of plants, 
embracing the large and the small ; from the lofty cedar of 
Lebanon down to the humble hyssop of the wall, neglecting 
not the essential adjuncts, — fountains and streams of water, 
for ornament and use, within the prescribed position. 

Amyctis, the daughter of Astyages,* King of Media, was 
passionately fond of horticulture. To gratify this predilection, 
her husband, Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, formed her 
a garden four hundred feet square at the base, fifty feet high 
from the ground, covering an area of four acres, in curious 
terraces sixteen feet wide, elevated each above the other, till 
they reached the altitude of three hundred feet, with a foun- 
tain, on the summit, of water raised from the Euphrates, by 
the aid of hydraulic machinery, for the purpose of cooling 
the atmosphere, and nurturing the plants with moisture ; and 
each terrace so diminished in dimensions as to give to the pile, 
at a distance, a pyramidical aspect, of a grand and majestic 
size. No arches were then in use ; the whole of the structure 
was supported by strong pillars of stone, covered with flags 
of the same material, overlaid with reeds, cemented with bitu- 
men, paved with a double row of bricks, united with mortar, 
and surmounted with plates of lead, tightly jointed together. 
On these layers was placed a stratum of earth, sufficiently 
deep for the object. Here plants were cultivated, of various 
sorts, sizes, and colours, as well on the sides as the flats, skil- 
fully arranged in beautiful order. The trees were grand and 
showy ; and of those of the deciduous kind, many displayed 
the most brilliant colours. 

The sides were the more exclusive department for flowers, 
consisting of thousands of species, varying in height, colour 
and brilliancy, but all most beautiful. The effect of the whole 
was captivating, — a towering garland of animated plants, dis- 
playing a magnificent object of princely grandeur. The top 
of this pile presented a prospect grand and imposing ; the 
meandering stream of the noble river, an excellent view of 
the splendid city of Babylon, its extensive suburbs surrounded 
with cultivated fields, interspersed with elegant villas, groves, 
parterres, ponds, and banqueting rooms, with the numerous 
gardens of beautiful flowers and foliage, displaying a delightful 
variety of light and shade, begirt, in the distance, with a desert 
remote as the vision extended. 

The Persians were famous for gardens ; and some of their 

* Pronounced, ^ sty' acres. 



236 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

distinguished monarchs were not only generous patrons of the 
art so conducive to health, amusement, and cheerfulness, but 
were among those who actually designed, arranged, and 
superintended their culture. Some of the gardens of these 
sovereigns are mentioned with much admiration by ancient 
writers. A paradise, on the Island of Panchea,* contiguous to 
the Arabian coast, flourished three hundred years before the 
Christian era, and belonged to the temple of Jupiter. It con- 
tained groves, fruit-trees, thickets, and flowers, and a spacious 
fountain discharging a copious stream, which constituted a 
river, that was cased with stone for nearly half a mile, and 
thence used for purposes of irrigation. 

The grove of Orontes, situated in Syria, — an area of more 
than four thousand acres, — according to Gibbon, was com- 
posed of laurels and cypress, forming, in the most sultry sum- 
mers, a cool and impenetrable shade, issuing from every hill, 
a thousand streams of the purest water, to nurture the earth, 
preserve the verdure, and mollify the temperature of the air. 

In the Persian gardens of a more reduced scale, the trees, 
— among which were conspicuous, the original plane, and the 
narrow-leaved elm, — were arranged in straight lines and 
regular figures; and the walks were margined with thickets of 
roses, violets, and odoriferous plants of a vast variety of kinds. 
Buildings were introduced for repose, banqueting, and pleas- 
ure ; fountains for cooling the air ; aviaries for birds ; and 
towers for distant prospect ; — the whole beautifully adapted as 
a delightful and gladsome retreat. 

We pass to the gardens of Greece. — Plato taught in a 
grove near Athens, once the property of Academus, f an Athe- 
nian citizen; and the scene of the Dialogue on Beauty, is laid 
on the banks of the River Ilissus, under the shade of the plan- 
tain. The Academe was a shady place, and the trees of the 
olive species ; though a rude and uncultivated spot, until the 
time of Cimon, the celebrated general, who, in one day, defeated 
the Persian fleet, captured two hundred of their ships, and 
routed completely the whole of their army. With the spoils 
which he obtained, he embellished the renowned city of ancient 
literature, and planted the Academe, in conformity with the 
Persian mode. For use and ornament, he introduced water ; 
and from the gymnasia or places of exercise, he separated the 
grounds devoted to mental rumination and converse ; giving to 
philosophy sequestered walks, well shaded with trees. 

A partiality for trees of the terebinthine kind, and odorif- 

* P.ono'i-cH, Pinks'a. + A"*ffi r mvs 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 237 

erous flowers of brilliant colours, appears to have been preva- 
lent both in Persia and Greece, — a circumstance corroborative 
of the opinion, that the Grecians, who copied the Persians in 
their manners and architecture, borrowed their modes of 
gardening. 



EXERCISE CXXIII. 

THE APPROACH TO PARADISE. Milton. 

So on he fares ; and to the border comes 
Of Eden, where delicious Paradise, 
Now nearer, crowns, with her enclosure green, 
As with a rural mound, the champaign head 
Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides, 
With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild, 
Access denied ; and overhead upgrew 
Insuperable height of loftiest shade, 
Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, — 
A sylvan scene ; and, as the ranks ascend, 
Shade above shade, a woody theatre 
Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops 
The verdurous wall of Paradise up sprung ; 
Which to our general sire gave prospect large 
Into his nether empire neighbouring round : 
And, higher than that wall, a circling row 
Of goodliest trees, laden with fairest fruit, 
Blossoms and fruits, at once, of golden hue, 
Appeared, with gay enamelled colours mixed ; 
On which the Sun more glad impressed his beams 
Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow, 
When God hath showered the earth ; so lovely seemed 
That landscape : and of pure now purer air 
Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires 
Vernal delight and joy, able to drive 
All sadness but despair : now gentle gales, 
Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense 
Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole 
Those balmy spoils ; — as when, to them who sail 
Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past 
Mozambique, off at sea, north-east winds blow 



238 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

Sabean odours from the spicy shore 

Of Araby the blest; with such delay 

Well pleased they slack their course ; and, many a league, 

Cheered with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles. 



EXERCISE CXXIV. 

REJOICINGS UPON THE NEW YEAR ? S COMING OF AGE. 

Charles Lamb. 

The Old Year being dead, and the New Year coming of 
age, which he does, by calendar law, as soon as the breath is 
out of the old gentleman's body, nothing would serve the 
young spark but he must give a dinner upon the occasion, to 
which all the Days in the year were invited. 

The Festivals, whom he deputed as his stewards, were 
mightily taken with the notion. They had been engaged, 
time out of mind, they said, in providing mirth and good cheer 
for mortals below ; and it was time they should have a taste 
of their own bounty. It was stiffly debated among them, 
whether the Fasts should be admitted. Some said the appear- 
ance of such lean, starved guests, with their mortified faces, 
would pervert the ends of the meeting. But the objection 
was overruled by Christmas Day, who had a design upon Ash 
Wednesday, (as you shall hear,) and a mighty desire to see 
how the old dominie would behave himself in his cups. Only 
the Vigils were requested to come with their lanterns, to light 
the gentlefolks home at night. 

All the Days came to their day. Covers were provided for 
three hundred and sixty-five guests, at the principal table ; 
with an occasional knife and fork at the sideboard, for the 
Twenty-ninth of February. 

I should have told you that cards of invitation had been 
issued. The carriers were the Hours; twelve little, merry, 
whirligig foot-pages, as you should desire to see, that went all 
round, and found out the persons invited well enough, with 
the exception of Easter Day, Shrove Tuesday, and a few such 
Movables who had lately shifted their quarters. 

Well, they all met, at last, — foul Days, fine Days, all sorts 
of Days ; — and a rare din they made of it. There was noth- 
ing but, "Hail! fellow Day, — well met, — brother Day, — 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 239 

sister Day : " — only Lady Day kept a little on the aloof, and 
seemed somewhat scornful. Yet some said, Twelfth Day cut 
her out and out ; for he came in a tiffany suit, white and gold, 
like a queen on a frost-cake, all royal, glittering, and Epipha- 
nous. The rest came ; — some in green, some in white ; — 
but old Lent and his family were not yet out of mourning. 
Rainy Days came in, dripping ; and sunshiny Days helped 
them to change their stockings. Wedding Day was there, in 
his marriage finery, — a little the worse for wear. Pay Day 
came late, as he always does; and Dooms-day sent word — he 
might be expected. 

April Fool, (as my young lord's jester,) took upon himself 
to marshal the guests; and wild work he made with it. It 
would have posed an astrologer to find out any given Day 
in the year, to erect a scheme upon ; — good Days, bad 
Days, were so shuffled together, to the confounding of all 
sober horoscopy. 

He had stuck the Twenty-first of June next to the Twenty- 
second of December ; and the former looked like a maypole 
siding a marrow-bone. Ash Wednesday got wedged in, (as 
was concerted,) between Christmas and Lord Mayor's Days. 
How he laid about him ! Nothing but barons of beef and 
turkeys would go down with him, — to the great greasing and 
detriment of his new sackcloth bib and tucker. And still 
Christmas Day was at his elbow, plying him with the wassail 
bowl, till he roared, and hiccoughed, and protested there was 
no faith in dried ling, but commended it to the mischief for " a 
sour, windy, acrimonious, censorious, hy-po-crit-cr it-critical 
mess, and no dish for a gentleman." Then he dipped his fist 
into the middle of the great custard that stood before his left- 
hand neighbour, and daubed his hungry beard all over with it, 
till you would have taken him for the Last Day in Decem- 
ber ; — it so hung in icicles. 

At another part of the table, Shrove Tuesday was helping 
the Second of September to some broth, — which courtesy 
the latter returned with the delicate bone of a hen pheasant ; 
— so there was no love lost for that matter. The Last of 
Lent was sponging upon Shrovetide's pancakes ; which April 
Fool perceiving, told him he did well, for pancakes were 
proper to a good-fry-day. 

In another part, a hubbub arose about the Thirtieth of Jan- 
uary, who it seems, being a sour, Puritanic character, that 
thought nobody's meat good or sanctified enough for him, had 
smuggled into the room a calf's head, which he had had 



240 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

cooked at home, for that purpose ; thinking to feast thereon 
incontinently ; but as it lay in the dish, March Manyweathers, 
who is a very fine lady, and subject to the megrims, screamed 
out there was a " human head in the platter," and raved about 
Herodias's daughter to that degree, that the obnoxious viand 
was obliged to be removed ; nor did she recover her stomach 
till she had gulped down a restorative, confected of oak-apple, 
which the merry Twenty-ninth of May always carries about 
with him, for that purpose. 



EXERCISE CXXV. 
THE SAME SUBJECT, CONCLUDED. Ibid. 

It beginning to grow a little duskish, Candlemas lustily 
bawled out for lights, which was opposed by all the Days, who 
protested against burning daylight. Then fair water was 
handed round in silver ewers ; and the same lady was observed 
to take an unusual time in washing herself. 

May Day, with that sweetness which is peculiar to her, in a 
neat speech proposing the health of the founder, crowned her 
goblet, (and, by her example, the rest of the company,) with 
garlands. This being done, the lordly New Year, from the 
upper end of the table, in a cordial but somewhat lofty tone, 
returned thanks. He felt proud, on an occasion of meeting so 
many of his worthy father's late tenants, promised to improve 
their farms, and, at the same time, to abate, (if any thing was 
found unreasonable,) in their rents. 

At the mention of this, the four Quarter Days involuntarily 
looked at each other and smiled ; April Fool whistled to an 
old tune of " New Brooms ; " and a surly old rebel, at the 
farther end of the table, (who was discovered to be no other 
than the Fifth of November,) muttered out, distinctly 
enough to be heard by the whole company, words to this 
effect, that, " when the old one is gone, he is a fool that looks 
for a better. " Which rudeness of his the guests, resenting, 
unanimously voted his expulsion ; and the malcontent was 
thrust out, neck and heels, into the cellar, as the properest 
place for such a firebrand as he had shown himself to be. 

Order being restored, — the young lord, (who, to say truth, 
had been a little ruffled, and put beside his oratory,) in as 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 241 

few, and yet as obliging words as possible, assured them of 
entire welcome ; and, with a graceful turn, singling out poor 
Twenty-ninth of February, that had sat all this while mum- 
chance at the sideboard, begged to couple his health with that 
of the good company before him, — which he drank accord- 
ingly ; observing, that he had not seen his honest face any 
time these four years, — with a number of endearing expres- 
sions, besides. At the same time, removing the solitary Day 
from the forlorn seat which had been assigned him, he sta- 
tioned him at his own board, somewhere between the Greek 
Calends and Latter Lammas. 

Ash Wednesday, being now called upon for a song, with 
his eyes fast stuck in his head, and as well as the Canary he 
had swallowed would give him leave, struck up a carol, which 
Christmas Day had taught him for the nonce, and was followed 
by the latter, who gave " Miserere " in fine style, hitting off 
the mumping notes and lengthened drawl of Old Mortification 
with infinite humour. April Fool swore they had exchanged 
conditions : but Good Friday was observed to look extremely 
grave ; and Sunday held her fan before her face, that she 
might not be seen to smile. 

Shrovetide, Lord Mayor's Day, and April Fool, next joined 
in a glee — 

" Which is the properest day to drink 1 " 

in which all the Days chiming in, made a merry burden. 

They next fell to quibbles and conundrums. The question 
being proposed, who had the greatest number of followers, — 
the Quarter Days said, there could be no question as to that ; 
for they had all the creditors in the world dogging their heels. 
But April Fool gave it in favour of the Forty Days before 
Easter ; because the debtors in all cases outnumbered the 
creditors, and they kept Lent all the year. 

All this while, Valentine's Day kept courting pretty May, 
who sat next him, slipping amorous billets-doux under the 
table, till the Dog Days, (who are naturally of a warm consti- 
tution,) began to be jealous, and to bark and rage exceedingly. 
April Fool, who likes a bit of sport above measure, and had 
some pretensions to the lady besides, as being but a cousin 
once removed, — clapped and hallooed them on ; and as fast 
as their indignation cooled, those mad wags, the Ember Days, 
were at it with their bellows, to blow it into a flame ; and all 
was in a ferment : till old Madam Septuagesima, (who boasts 
herself the Mother of the Days,) wisely diverted the conversa- 
21 



242 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

tion, with a tedious tale of the lovers which she could reckon 
when she was young; and of one Master Rogation Day, in 
particular, who was forever putting the question to her ; but 
she kept him at a distance, as the chronicle would tell, — by 
which, I apprehend, she meant the Almanac. Then she ram- 
bled on to the Days that were gone, the good old Days, and so 
to the Days before the flood, — which plainly showed her old 
head to be little better than crazed and doited. 

Day being ended, the Days called for their cloaks and 
great-coats, and took their leaves. Lord Mayor's Day went 
off in a mist, as usual ; Shortest Day, in a deep black fog, 
that wrapped the little gentleman all round like a hedgehog. 
Two Vigils, — so watchmen are called in heaven, — saw 
Christmas Day safe home : — they had been used to the 
business before. Another Vigil, — a stout, sturdy patrol, 
called the Eve of St. Christopher, — seeing Ash Wednesday 
in a condition little better than he should be, — e'en whipped 
him over his shoulders, pick-a-back fashion, and Old Mortifi- 
cation went floating home, singing — 

" On the bat's back do I fly," 

and a number of old snatches besides, between drunk and 
sober, but very few Aves or Penitentiaries, (you may believe 
me,) were among them. Longest Day set off westward, in 
beautiful crimson and gold, — the rest, some in one fashion, 
some in another ; but Valentine and pretty May took their 
departure together, in one of the prettiest silvery twilights a 
Lover's Day could wish to set in. 



EXERCISE CXXVI. 

SCENE FROM MIDSUMMER-NIGHT ? S DREAM. 

Shakspeare. 

The Forest. — Oberon and Titania, (fairy king and queen,) 
Puck, (a fairy ;) and Nick Bottom, (the weaver.) 

Oberon. How long within this wood intend you stay ? 

Titania. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day. 
If you will patiently dance in our round, 
And see our moonlight revels, go with us ; 
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 243 

Ob. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. 

Tit. Not for thy fairy kingdom. — Fairies, away; 
We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. 

[Exeunt Titania, and her train. 

Ob. Well, go thy way : Thou shalt not from this grove, 
Till I torment thee for this injury. — 
My gentle Puck, come hither : Thou remember'st 
Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song, 
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 
To hear the sea-maid's music. 

Puck. I remember. 

Ob. That very time I saw, (but thou couldst not,) 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all armed : a certain aim he took 
At a fair vestal, throned by the west; 
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : 
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon ; 
And the imperial votaress passed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
It fell upon a little western flower, — 
Before, milk-white ; now purple with love's wound, — 
And maidens call it, Love-in-idleness. 
Fetch me that flower : the herb I showed thee once : 
The juice of it, on sleeping eyelids laid, 
Will make or man or woman, madly dote 
Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
Fetch me this herb ; and be thou here again, 
Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 

Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth 
In forty minutes. [Exit Puck. 

Ob. Having once this juice, 

I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, 
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes : 
The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, 
On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,) 
She shall pursue it with the soul of love. 
And ere I take this charm off from her sight 



244 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

(As I can take it with another herb,) 
I'll make her render up her page to me. 

Another part of the Forest. Titania, asleep. Bottom, after 
his hideous transformation, walking up and down singing. 

Bot. The ousel-cock, so black of hue, 

With orange-tawny bill, 
The throstle, with his note so true, 
The wren with little quill. 

Tit. [ Waking.'] What angel wakes me from my flowery 
bed? 
I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again : 
Mine ear is much enamoured of thy note, 
So is mine eye inthralled to thy shape ; 
On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee. 
Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for 
that. And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little 
company together nowadays : The more the pity, that some 
honest neighbours will not make them friends. 
Tit. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 
Bot. Not so, neither : but if I had wit enough to get out 
of this wood, I have enough to serve me mine own turn. 
Tit. Out of this wood do not desire to go ; 

Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. 

I am a spirit of no common rate ; 

The summer still doth tend upon my state ; 

And I do love thee : therefore, go with me ; 

I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee ; 

And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, 

And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep : 

And I will purge thy mortal grossness so 

That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. — 

Peas-blossom ! Cobweb ! Moth ! and Mustard-seed ! 

Enter four Fairies. 

\. Fai. Ready. 

2. Fai. And I. 

3. Fai. And I. 

4. Fai. And I. 
All. Where shall we go? 

Tit. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ; 
Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes ,* 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 245 

Feed him with apricots and dewberries, 
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries ; 
The honey bags steal from the humble-bees ; 
And, for night tapers, crop their waxen thighs, 
And light them at the fiery glowworm's eyes ; 
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies, 
To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes : 
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. 

1 Fai. Hail, mortal ! 

2 Fai. Hail! 

3 Fai. Hail ! 

4 Fai. Hail ! 

Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily. — I beseech, 
your worship's name ? 

Cob. Cobweb. 

Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good master 
Cobweb : If I cut my finger, I shall make bold with you. — 
Your name, honest gentleman 1 

Peas. Peas-blossom. 

Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, your 
mother, and to master Peascod, your father. Good master 
Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of more acquaintance, too. — 
Your name, I beseech you, sir ? 

Mas. Mustard-seed. 

Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your patience 
well : that same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef hath devoured 
many a gentleman of your house : I promise you, your kin- 
dred hath made my eyes water, ere now. I desire you more 
acquaintance, good master Mustard-seed. 

Tit. Come, wait upon him ; lead him to my bower. 



EXERCISE CXXVII. 

TRANSMIGRATION OF SOULS. Spectator. 

Will Honeycomb, who loves to show, upon occasion, all the 
little learning he has picked up, told us yesterday at the club, 
that he thought there might be a great deal said for the trans- 
migration of souls, and that the eastern parts of the world 
believed in that doctrine to this day. " Sir Paul Rycaut," 
says he, " gives us an account of several well-disposed Ma- 



246 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

hometans that purchase the freedom of any little bird they see 
confined to a cage, and think they merit as much by it as we 
should do here by ransoming any of our countrymen from 
their captivity at Algiers. 

" You must know," says Will, " the reason is, that they con- 
sider every animal as a brother or sister in disguise, and there- 
fore think themselves obliged to extend their charity to them, 
though under such mean circumstances. They'll tell you," 
says Will, " that the soul of a man, when he dies, immediately 
passes into the body of another man, or of some brute, which 
he resembled in his humour, or his fortune, when he was one 
of us." 

As I was wondering what this profusion of learning would 
end in, Will told us that Jack Freelove, who was a fellow of 
whim, made love to one of those ladies who throw away all 
their fondness on parrots, monkeys, and lapdogs. Upon going 
to pay her a visit, one morning, he wrote a very pretty epistle 
upon this hint. 

" Jack," says he, " was conducted into the parlour, where 
he diverted himself, for some time, with her favourite monkey, 
which was chained in one of the windows ; till, at length, ob- 
serving a pen and ink lie by him, he wrote the following letter 
to the lady, — in the person of the monkey; and, upon her 
not coming down so soon as he expected, left it in the win- 
dow, and went about his business. The lady, soon after, 
coming into the parlour, and seeing her monkey look upon a 
paper with great earnestness, took it up, and, to this day, is in 
some doubt," says Will, " whether it was written by Jack, or 
the monkey. 

" ' Madam, 

1 Not having the gift of speech, I have a long time waited, 
in vain, for an opportunity of making myself known to you ; 
and having, at present, the conveniences of pen, ink, and 
paper, by me, I gladly take the occasion of giving you my 
history, in writing ; which I could not do by word of mouth. 

1 You must know, madam, that about a thousand years ago, 
I was an Indian Brahmin, and versed in all those mysterious 
secrets which your European philosopher, called Pythagoras,* 
is said to have learned from our fraternity. I had so ingra- 
tiated myself, by my great skill in the occult sciences, with a 
demon whom I used to converse with, that he promised to grant 

* Pronounced, Pithag'oras. 



YOUNG LADIES' READER. 247 

me whatever I should ask of him. I desired that my soul 
might never pass into the body of a brute creature ; but this, 
he told me, was not in his power to grant me. I then begged, 
that, into whatever creature I should chance to transmigrate, I 
should still retain my memory, and be conscious that I was 
the same person who lived in different animals. This, he told 
me, was within his power, and accordingly promised, on the 
word of a demon, that he would grant me what I desired. 
From that time forth, I lived so very unblamably, that I was 
made president of the college of Brahmins, — an office which 
I discharged with great integrity, till the day of my death. 

1 1 was then shuffled into another human body, and acted my 
part so very well in it, that I became first minister to a prince 
who reigned upon the banks of the Ganges. I here lived in 
great honour, for several years, but, by degrees, lost all the in- 
nocence of the Brahmin, being obliged to rifle and oppress 
the people, to enrich my sovereign ; till, at length, I became so 
odious, that my master, to recover his credit with his subjects, 
shot me through the heart, with an arrow, as I was one day 
addressing myself to him at the head of his army. 

' My soul then entered into a flying-fish, and in that state led 
a most melancholy life, for the space of six years. Several 
fishes of prey pursued me, when I was in the water ; and if I 
betook myself to my wings, it was ten to one but I had a flock 
of birds aiming at me. As I was one day flying amidst a fleet 
of English ships, I observed a huge sea-gull whetting his bill, 
and hovering just over my head : upon my dipping into the 
water to avoid him, I fell into the mouth of a monstrous shark, 
that swallowed me down in an instant. 

* I was, some years afterwards, to my great surprise, an emi- 
nent banker in Lombard Street ; and remembering how I had 
formerly suffered for want of money, became so very sordid 
and avaricious, that the whole town cried shame of me. I 
was a miserable little old fellow to look upon ; for I had, in a 
manner, starved myself, and was nothing but skin and bone, 
when I died. 

' I was afterwards very much troubled and amazed to find 
myself dwindled into an emmet. I was heartily concerned to 
make so insignificant a figure, and did not know but, some 
time or other, I might be reduced to a mite, if I did not mend 
my manners. I therefore applied myself with great diligence 
to the offices that were allotted to me, and was generally 
looked upon as the notablest ant in the whole molehill. I was 
at last picked up, as I was groaning under a burden, by an 



248 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

unlucky sparrow, that lived in the neighbourhood, and had 
before made great depredations upon our commonwealth. 

1 1 then bettered my condition a little, and lived, a whole 
summer, in the shape of a bee ; but being tired with the pain- 
ful and penurious life I had undergone in my two last trans- 
migrations, I fell into the other extreme, and turned drone. 
As I, one day, headed a party to plunder a hive, we were 
received so warmly by the swarm which defended it, that we 
were most of us left dead upon the spot. 

' I might tell you of many other transmigrations which I 
went through, how I was a shrimp, and a tomtit. In the last 
of these my shapes, I was shot, in the Christmas holidays, 
by a young jackanapes, who would needs try his new gun 
upon me. 

' But I shall pass over these, and several other stages of life, 
to remind you of the young beau who made love to you, about 
six years since. You may remember, madam, how he masked, 
and danced, and sang, and played a thousand tricks to gain 
you ; and how he was at last carried off by a cold that he got 
under your window, one night, in a serenade. I was that un- 
fortunate fellow, whom you were then so cruel to. Not long 
after my shifting that unlucky body, I found myself upon a 
hill in Ethiopia, where I lived in my present grotesque shape, 
till I was caught by a servant of the English factory, and sent 
over into Great Britain. I need not inform you how I came 
into your hands. * 

1 You see, madam, this is not the first time that you have 
had me in a chain. I am, however, very happy in this my 
captivity, as you often bestow on me those caresses which I 
would have given the world for, when I was a man. I hope 
this discovery of my person will not tend to my disadvantage, 
but that you will still continue your accustomed favours to 
1 Your most devoted humble servant, 

1 Pug.' 

* P. S. I would advise your little shock-dog to keep out of 
my way ; for, as I look upon him to be the most formidable 
of my rivals, I may chance, one time or other, to give him 
such a snap as he won't like.' " 



YOUNG LADIES 7 READER. 249 



EXERCISE CXXVIII. 

THE PAUPERIS DEATH-BED. Mrs. Southey. 

Tread softly, — bow the head, — 

In reverent silence bow ; — 
No passing bell doth toll, — 
Yet an immortal soul 
Is passing now. 

Stranger ! however great, 

With lowly reverence bow ; 
There's one in that poor shed — 
One by that paltry bed — 
Greater than thou. 

Beneath that beggar's roof, 

Lo ! Death doth keep his state : — 
Enter ! — no crowds attend ; — 
Enter ! — no guards defend 
This palace gate. 

That pavement, damp and cold, 

No smiling courtiers tread : 
One silent woman stands 
Lifting, with meagre hands, 
A dying head. 

No mingling voices sound, — 

An infant wail alone, — 
A sob suppressed, — again 
That short deep gasp, — and then 
The parting groan ! 

Oh ! change — oh ! wondrous change . 

Burst are the prison bars : — 
This moment, there, so low, 
So agonized; and, now, 
Beyond the stars ! 

Oh ! change, — stupendous change ! 

There lies the soulless clod . 
The sun eternal breaks, — 
The new immortal wakes, — 
Wakes with his God ! 



250 INTRODUCTION TO THE 

EXERCISE CXXTX. 

WOMAN. A. Lewis. 

When man is consigned to the tomb of his fathers, his worth 
is recorded on monuments of marble, and his virtues illuminate 
the page of history ; but the grave of woman is passed in si- 
lence and neglect. She who is the mother of the man, the 
wife of his bosom, the daughter of his affection, — she who 
has shared all his dangers, and encouraged his footsteps up the 
steep ascent of fame, — she, who, in the hour of sickness, 
has been his comforter ; in the day of adversity, his support ; 
and in the time of trial, his guardian angel ; — generous, vir- 
tuous, unassuming woman, is permitted to go to her last sleep, 
with no mention of her name, no record of her virtues. 

Poetry, indeed, has extolled her ; but even poetry has praised 
her but half. It has represented her chiefly as a thing of 
beauty, an object of youthful admiration, a creature of light 
and fancy, full of fascination and the blandishments of love. 
Poetry and romance follow her in the sunny days of youth 
and beauty ; but when the time of her maturity and usefulness 
arrives, they abandon her, for other pursuits, and leave her, 
alone, to encounter the trials, and sickness, and sorrows 
of home. 

It is there, in the unobserved paths of domestic life, that 
the value of woman is to be estimated. There may be found 
unwavering faith, untiring affection, hope that endures all 
afflictions, and love that bears all trials. There may be found 
the smile of unfailing friendship, mantling over a breaking 
heart, — the unobtrusive tear of sympathy, falling in the si- 
lence of solitude. There may be found a being, like a spirit 
from another world, watching through the long, dark hours 
of night, over the form of manhood, prostrate and wasting by 
slow consuming sickness, and performing all the numerous 
duties, and encountering all the innumerable trials of common 
life, with the enduring patience of years, and with no reward 
but the satisfaction of her own secret heart. 

Man performs the public toils of life, and participates the 
honours of the world and the recompense of fame ; but wo- 
man, who has formed man for his high destiny, and whose 
virtues and amiable qualities constitute the refinement of so- 
ciety, has no share in such rewards. — But history could not 
do justice to her merits; she must be satisfied with the living 



YOUNG LADIES 5 READER. 251 

admiration of her excellence on earth, and the everlasting 
remuneration of her virtues in heaven. 



EXERCISE CXXX. 

DOMESTIC OCCUPATIONS. Anon. 

A modern female writer and traveller, has thus described 
the housewifery of the daughter of a French nobleman, re- 
siding in a superb chateau on the River Loire. 

The travellers had just arrived and been introduced, when 
the following scene took place : — 

" The bill of fare for dinner was discussed in my presence, 
and settled with the delightful frankness and gayety, which, 
in the French character, give a charm to the most trifling 
occurrence. Mademoiselle Louise then begged me to excuse 
her for half an hour, as she was going to make some creams 
and some pastilles. I requested I might accompany her, and 
also render myself useful : we accordingly went together to 
the dairy. I made tarts a VAnglaisc, whilst she made con- 
fections and bonbons, and all manner of pretty things, with as 
much ease as if she had never done any thing else, and as 
much grace as she displayed in the saloon. I could not help 
thinking, as I looked at her, with her servants about her, all 
cheerful, respectful, and anxious to attend upon her, — how 
much better it would be for the young ladies of England, if they 
would occasionally return to the habits of their grandmammas, 
and mingle the animated and endearing occupations of domes- 
tic life, and the modest manners and social amusements of home, 
with the perpetual practising on harps and pianos, and the 
incessant efforts at display and search after gayety, which, at the 
present day, render them any thing but what an amiable man of 
a reflecting mind and delicate sentiments, would desire in the 
woman he might wish to select as his companion for life. 

"But it was not only in the more trifling affairs of the 
menage, that this young lady acquitted herself so agreeably ; 
in the household, the garden, the farm, among the labourers, 
their wives and children, with the poor in the neighbourhood, 
and the casual wanderer, everywhere she was superintending, 
directing, — kind, amiable, — the comfort of all around, and the 
delight of her family : her cheerfulness was in proportion to 

1 — that sweet peace which goodness bosoms ever.' 






252 INTRODUCTION TO YOUNG LADIES* READER. 

" She flew up and down the rocks, with the lightness of a 
mountain roe ; she sprang into a boat, like the Lady of the 
Lake, and could manage an oar with as much grace and 
skill. With all this, her mind was thoroughly cultivated. 
She had an elegant taste in the authors of her own lan- 
guage, understood Latin, Italian, and English, and charmed 
me with her conversation, whilst she employed her fingers in 
the fancy work, with which the French ladies occupy the mo- 
ments that some call idle, but which, with them, are always 
sociably and, for the most part, carefully employed." 

Mr. Colman gives us the following portrait of an English lady 
of rank. — "I had no sooner entered the house> where my visit 
had been expected, then I was met with an unaffected cordi- 
ality which at once made me at home. In the midst of gilded 
halls and hosts of liveried servants, of dazzling lamps, and 
glittering mirrors, redoubling the highest triumphs of art and 
taste ; in the midst of books, and statues, and pictures, and 
all the elegances and refinements of luxury ; in the midst of ' 
titles, and dignities, and ranks, allied to regal grandeur, — 
there was one object which transcended and eclipsed them all, 
and showed how much the nobility of character surpassed the 
nobility of rank; the beauty of refined and simple manners, 
all the adornments of art ; and the scintillations of the soul, 
beaming from the eyes, the purest gems that ever glittered in a 
princely diadem. In person, in education and improvement, 
in quickness of perception, in facility and elegance of expres- 
sion, in accomplishments and taste, in a frankness and gentle- 
ness of manners, tempered by a modesty which courted confi- 
dence, and inspired respect, and in a high moral tone and sen- 
timent, which, like a bright halo, seemed to encircle the whole 
person, — I confess the fictions of poetry became substantial ; 
and the beau ideal of my youthful imagination was realized. 

" But who was the person I have described ? A mere statue, 
to adorn a gallery of sculpture ? — a bird of paradise, to be 
kept in a glass case ? — a mere doll, with painted cheeks, to be 
dressed and undressed with childish fondness 1 — a mere hu- 
man toy, to languish over a romance, or to figure in a quadrille ? 
Far otherwise : she was a woman, in all the noble attributes 
which should dignify that name ; a wife, a mother, a house- 
keeper, a farmer, a gardener, a dairy- worn an, a kind neighbour, 
a benefactor to the poor, a Christian woman, ' full of good 
works, and alms-deeds which she did.' " 

THE END. 







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